*lj 

— 


UFFMAN 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


JL* 


MY  HEART  AND  STEPHANIE 


OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


WORKS    OF 

REGINALD  WRIGHT 
KAUFFMAN 


Miss  Frances  Baird,  Detective  $1.25 
My  Heart  and  Stephanie  .  .  1.25 
Jarvis  of  Harvard  .  .  .  1.50 


L.  C.  PAGE  &   COMPANY 
New  England  Building,  Boston,  Mass. 


Stephanie,  Countess  Routkovsky 


MY  HEART  AND 
STEPHANIE 

A  Novel 


By 


Reginald  Wright  Kauffman 


Author  of  "Jarvis  of  Harvard,"  "  Miss  Frances  Baird, 
Detective,"  etc. 


With  two  portraits  in  colour  from  paintings  by 

A.  G.  Learned 


Boston    ^    L.  C.  Page 


Company       fc       Mdccccx 


Copyright,  1910 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 


Entered  at  Stationer's  Hall,  London 


All  rights  reserved 


First  Impression,  March,  1910 


Electrotypcd  and  Printed  at 
THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.  H.  S  intends  &•  Co.,  Boston,  U.S.A. 


3SZI 


To 
R.  H.  K. 

Dear  Ruth  :  —  Only  a  few  weeks  have  elapsed  since,  seated  on 
that  shaded  boulder  beside  the  lake  at  Neuchutel,  I  first  read  you 
what  was  then  but  the  mere  skeleton  of  this  little  story.  I  remember, 
as  I  know  you,  too,  remember,  how  the  sun,  out  of  a  mackerel  sky, 
flung  great  handfuls  of  riotous  gold  upon  the  blue  water;  I 
remember  how  the  light  breeze  rustled  the  leaves  in  the  treetops 
overhead,  and  I  remember  (you  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  never 
forget  /)  the  word  with  which,  as  I  ceased,  you  bade  me  complete 
the  task  I  had  so  carelessly  begun.  Only  a  few  weeks  —  and  yet, 
here  is  the  finished  narrative! 

What  followed  that  first  receding  I  need  not  now  rehearse.  If 
the  dry  bones  have  been  given  life,  it  was  your  breath  that  inspired 
them.  Stephanie  is  not  my  mystery,  but  ours.  We  have,  in  these 
past  few  days,  stood  together  in  the  guilty  house  at  Mountville; 
have  pillaged  together  the  embassy  in  the  Rue  de  Varenne;  and 
have  together  fought  the  conspirators  before  the  secret  prison  at 
the  end  of  our  dream-stairway.  In  a  word,  this  book  would  never 
have  been  completed  but  for  your  constant  encouragement  and 
indefatigable  assistance,  and,  since  I  know  that  you  will  not 
permit  me  to  say  that  the  story  is  yours,  I  am  at  least  resolved  that 
you  permit  me  thus  at  last  to  say  that  it  is  —  yours-and-mine. 

R.  W.  K. 
Hotel  Ritz,  Paris. 


2130782 


CONTENTS 


I.     THE  VEILED  CLIENT i 

II.     THE  TANGLED  WEB 14 

III.  HER  COUNTERFEIT  PRESENTMENT      ...  22 

IV.  THE  MURDER  AT  MOUNTVILLE  ....  35 
V.    THE  CRIMSON  THUMB 45 

VI.  THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR         ....  56 

VII.       BOLFRAS    CZIBULKA 69 

VIII.     SPILLED  MILK 76 

IX.     BEHIND  THE  CURTAIN 88 

X.    THE  STOLEN  BLUEPRINTS 106 

XI.    Au  L'ABBAYE 120 

XII.  A  LEAN  SPY  AND  A  KEEN  KNIFE      .       .       .  129 

XIII.  THE  RAID  ON  THE  EMBASSY      ....  146 

XIV.  CAUGHT  IN  THE  NET 163 

XV.  THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  JAEGER       .       .       .        .176 

XVI.  SUPPRESSED  HISTORY 182 

XVII.  THE  LOG  OF  A  DEEP  -  SEAGOING  HANSOM  .  193 

XVIII.  THE  VOICE  OF  THE  PRINCE  ....  203 

XIX.  EXIT  THE  COLONEL 213 

XX.  THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  STAIRS  ....  224 


MY  HEART  AND 
STEPHANIE 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    VEILED    CLIENT 

"  To  everything  there  is  a  season,  and  a  time  to  every 
purpose  under  the  heaven: 

"  A  time  to  be  born,  and  a  time  to  die;  a  time  to  plant, 
and  a  time  to  pluck  up  that  which  is  planted ; 

"  A  time  to  kill." 

IT  seems  impossible  that,  after  one  brief  year, 
so  little  should  remain  of  it  —  as  impossible  as 
that  the  commonplace  death  of  a  poverty-stricken 
stranger  in  a  little  Pennsylvania  village  should 
contain  the  seeds  of  a  mystery  which  imperiled 
the  succession  to  a  crown,  sent  the  spy  systems 
of  two  great  empires  buzzing  over  half  the  world 
and  at  one  time  threatened  to  plunge  Europe 
into  the  greatest  war  of  modern  history.  And 
yet,  after  all,  these  things  have  happened,  and 
now,  with  only  a  twelvemonth  come  and  gone, 

1 


My  Heart  and  Stephanie 


this  brown-stained  bit  of  newspaper  and  this 
single  lock  of  auburn  hair  are  all  that  are  left 
to  remind  me  of  my  voluntary  part  in  a  matter 
so  momentous;  all  that  remain  to  recall  Colonel 
Lichtenstein,  Bolfras  Czibulka,  the  Baron  Ferdi- 
nand-Salvator  Klepsch-Kloth  de  Hetzendorf  — 
and  the  Countess  Routkovsky. 

Is  it  any  marvel  that  the  whole  thing  should 
seem,  at  this  last,  so  like  a  strange  delirium  dimly 
remembered  by  a  weary  convalescent?  The 
world  has  gone  on  its  way  unguessing;  the  ready 
ear  of  gossip  has  caught  no  echo  of  our  sword- 
play;  the  map  of  Europe  is  unchanged,  and  I, 
looking  out  from  my  study  window  upon  the 
silent  April  night  in  this  quiet  Philadelphia 
suburb,  rub  my  eyes  and  begin  to  wonder  vainly 
whether  indeed  I  ever  saw  the  great  jewel  gleaming 
in  the  death-house  at  Mount ville;  whether  I  was 
ever  accomplice  to  Frances  Baird,  robbing  the 
ambassador's  desk  in  Paris;  whether  I  did  not 
only  dream  that  Stephanie  kissed  me  upon  the 
darkened  stairway  of  the  Rat  Mart,  and  whether, 
in  fact,  I  ever  heard  the  voice  of  the  Mad  Prince 
singing  the  mattchiche  out  of  tune  behind  that 
high-barred  window  in  the  Rue  Colbert. 

Ending,  it  would  seem,  in  what  was  perhaps  a 
tragic  nothing,  it  began  in  what,  at  the  time, 
appeared  to  me  but  a  commonplace  in  the  daily 


The  Veiled  Client 


calendar  of  my  friend,  the  detective.  It  was 
Sunday  in  the  dull  season  for  newspaperdom, 
and,  as  the  star  reporter  of  the  Globe-Express,  I 
had  decided  upon  a  long  vacation.  Fealy,  the 
managing  editor,  had,  only  that  afternoon,  ar 
ranged  the  matter  with  a  promptness  character 
istic  of  the  profession. 

"  Let  you  off?  "  he  had  asked,  without  looking 
up  from  the  A.  P.  "  flimsy  "  he  was  reading. 
"  Yes,  I  can  let  you  off:  two  weeks  with  pay  and 
two  without.  You  may  start  now." 

And  so,  having  gained  my  desire,  and  feeling 
helpless  and  restless  in  its  possession,  I  had  begun 
my  vacation  by  remaining  in  the  city,  taking 
Frances  Baird  to  a  roof-garden  and  trying  to 
make  her  tell  me  where  I  ought  to  go  to  get  that 
rest  and  quiet  which  I  so  required  and  which, 
as  the  event  proved,  I  was  so  little  destined  to 
obtain. 

We  had  talked  of  almost  everything,  save  the 
matter  in  hand,  and  had  returned,  I  remember, 
to  Frances's  quarters.  The  light  was  low  in  the 
apartment  that  she  called  her  studio,  but,  as 
she  sat  on  the  big  divan  under  the  swinging 
lamp  by  the  open  window,  I  could  see  her  plainly : 
her  small,  white  hands  clasped  over  her  knee, 
her  lithe,  young  body  relaxed  at  ease,  and  her 
well-shaped  head,  with  its  delicate  features,  its 


My  Heart  and  Stephanie 


large  brown  eyes  and  its  wealth  of  black  hair, 
buried  in  the  cushions.  Behind  me,  smoking 
in  the  armchair  within  a  yard  of  her,  the  long, 
cool  room  stretched  away  in  slow  gradations  of 
gloom  to  complete  darkness.  Out  of  the  shadows 
here  and  there  rose  the  indistinct  figure  of  some 
strange  bit  of  furniture  or  bric-a-brac  gathered 
in  this  or  that  odd  corner  of  the  world,  for  the 
most  part  either  a  reward  for  the  detective 
services  of  my  incongruously-demure  hostess,  or 
else  a  portion  of  the  stage-setting  in  some  cele 
brated  crime.  Upon  the  wall  opposite,  against 
a  Samoan  marriage-mat,  itself  the  relic  of  a 
world-chase  that  had  ended  in  the  South  Pacific, 
hung  now  a  multifarious  collection  of  weapons, 
on  each  of  which  the  imagination  detected  the 
crimson  stain;  the  big  desk  in  the  corner  had 
once  stood  in  Stanford  White's  office,  and  on 
the  chair  before  it  Dreyfus  had  sat  during  the 
sessions  of  the  court  martial  that  had  convicted 
him.  And  yet,  notwithstanding  all  these  grew- 
some  mementoes,  of  each  of  which  the  history 
was  familiar  to  me,  the  atmosphere  of  the  room 
was  one  of  quiet.  The  rattle  of  the  trolley-cars 
in  the  street  seemed  very  far  away ;  the  Summer 
stars,  peeping  into  our  open  windows,  seemed 
very  close  at  hand,  and  the  refreshing  air  that, 
every  minute,  stirred  the  curtains,  seemed  to 


The  Veiled  Client 


come  from  some  free  forest  where  wrong  and 
vengeance,  the  offence  and  the  punishment,  were 
alike  unknown. 

Curiously  enough,  too,  although  my  com 
panion's  theme  was  professional,  her  tone  was 
so  far  reminiscent  as  to  lose  the  effect  of  imminent 
reality,  and  it  struck  me  then,  for  the  thousandth 
time,  as  well  nigh  incredible  that  a  spirit  so 
young  and  usually  so  gentle  should  have  played 
upon  life's  stage  a  part  so  strenuous  and  bitter. 
As,  however,  we  grow  older,  we  cease  so  much 
to  be  amazed  at  what  in  our  boyhood  we  were 
wont  to  speculate  upon  as  strange  coincidence, 
and  now,  in  looking  back  at  that  evening,  I  take 
it  rather  as  a  matter  of  course  —  rather  as  an 
inevitable  working-out  of  some  natural  law  of 
mental  telepathy  —  that  Frances  Baird  should 
just  then  have  been  talking  in  fine  generalities 
about  a  system  the  meshed  details  of  which  were 
so  soon  to  ensnare  the  two  of  us. 

"  The  real  history  of  modern  times,"  she  was 
saying,  "  never  has  been  and  never  will  be  written. 
Some  day,  of  course,  a  future  historian  will 
spend  his  life  in  collecting  data  and  setting  forth 
the  events  that  all  the  world  has  at  one  time 
known.  Our  great-grandchildren  will  read  of 
Alfonso's  marriage  and  Nicholas's  coronation, 
of  the  War  in  Manchuria  and  the  Treaty  of 


6  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

Portsmouth,  and  will  suppose  that  what  all 
mankind  saw  of  these  things  was  all  that  there 
was  to  be  seen.  They  will  not  know  that  the 
body  of  a  Saxon  laundress  had  to  sink  into  the 
Rhine  before  the  Bourbon  King  of  Spain  might 
marry  the  Guelph  girl  of  England.  Nobody 
will  tell  the  story  of  the  three  days'  disappearance 
of  the  Russian  Emperor;  nobody  will  write 
the  facts  of  the  Muscovite  League  in  Tokio, 
and  not  even  here  in  our  free  America,  with  its 
twin  blessings  of  a  free  press  and  no  personal 
privacy  —  not  even  here  will  anyone  give  out 
the  news  of  the  stolen  dispatch  from  St.  Peters 
burg  that  turned  the  Czar's  defeat  at  arms  into 
his  diplomatic  victory." 

I  had  let  her  run  on,  in  that  quiet,  low  mezzo 
of  hers,  without  comment  or  interruption,  because 
I  knew  her  liking  for  soliloquy  and  because  she 
was  one  of  the  few  pretty  women  from  whom 
one  may  learn.  But  now  she  had  touched  the 
tender  chord  of  my  reporter's  heart. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  I  asked,  "  that  a 
European  spy  could  pull  off  such  a  trick  in 
America,  and  not  one  line  of  it  get  into  the 
papers?  " 

Frances  laughed. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  she  assured  me,  "  despite  the 
intervening  Atlantic,  this  country  is  the  happy 


The  Veiled  Client 


hunting-ground  for  the  Continental  secret-service 
agents.  The  only  trouble  is  that  you  fellows 
aren't  in  a  position  to  get  the  real  news  and 
wouldn't  dare  to  print  it  if  you  did  get  it.  No, 
no;  make  up  your  mind  to  one  thing,  Sam 
Burton:  when  you  come  to  write  of  any  event 
of  international  importance,  picturesque  or  awful 
as  the  known  facts  may  chance  to  be,  the  unknown 
facts  are  always  a  thousand  times  more  vital,  a 
thousand  times  more  intense,  a  thousand  times 
more  dramatic.  Diplomacy  is  the  one  play  in 
which  the  best  part  of  the  action  goes  on  behind 
the  scenes." 

It  was  just  at  that  moment  —  just  as  those 
words  were  uttered  —  that  the  maid  entered. 

Frances  took  the  card  that  lay  on  the  tray. 

"  Fraulein  Gretchen  Meyer,"  she  read,  care 
lessly.  "  I  don't  recall  the  Fraulein,  Betty.  Did 
she  send  any  message?  " 

Under  her  white-capped  head  Betty  cherished 
the  wits  of  a  very  well-trained  young  person. 
The  visitor  had  been  told  that  Miss  Baird  was 
engaged,  but  she  had  replied  that  she  called  on 
business,  that  the  business  was  urgent,  and  that 
she  would  be  deeply  indebted  for  fifteen  minutes 
of  Miss  Baird's  valuable  time. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Frances;  "show  her  up, 
Betty.  Sammy,  you  may  wait  here,  if  you  don't 


8  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

mind :  there's  just  one  chance  in  a  thousand  that 
this  may  be  the  very  thing  for  your  vacation." 

A  moment  later  the  door  opened  and  Betty, 
announcing  "  Fraulein  Meyer,"  had  presented 
the  new  client. 

In  the  dim  light  all  that  I  could  at  first  make 
out  was  a  tall  woman  in  black,  heavily  veiled. 
But,  little  by  little,  as  I  strained  my  eyes  through 
the  semi-darkness  and  risked  some  rudeness  in 
the  intensity  of  my  gaze,  I  began  to  feel  about 
her  an  air  that  plainly  bespoke  something  akin  to 
distinction.  There  was  youth  in  the  figure,  but 
it  was  youth  at  perfect  ease,  youth  tempered 
by  superb  control;  there  was  grace  in  every 
line  and  movement,  but  it  was  the  grace  that  is 
dignity.  The  visitor's  step  had  been  quick,  yet 
firm;  her  slight  bow  had  been  rather  what 
romancers  call  an  "  inclination  "  and  the  whole 
poise  of  her  head,  the  every  slight  gesture,  hinted 
at  once  a  certain  habit  of  authority.  For  half  a 
minute  she  stood  there,  silent,  and  then,  at  last, 
she  spoke  in  a  deep,  contralto  voice  that  thrilled 
me  like  the  first  notes  of  some  master  instrument. 

"  Miss  Baird,"  she  said,  moving  forward  to  a 
stiff -backed  chair  and  quite  disregarding  the  easy 
rocker  that  Frances  had  indicated,  "  I  have  been 
told  of  you  by  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine  in 
Berlin,  whose  name  I  need  not  mention,  and  I 


The  Veiled  Client  9 

have  been  informed  in  the  highest  quarters  that 
I  may  depend  upon  you  for  the  execution  of  a 
delicate  commission  with  both  skill  and  discretion. 
I  should  like  to  lay  this  matter  before  you  with 
as  little  delay  as  possible." 

Her  hidden  face  was  turned  so  frankly  toward 
me  that  I  began  to  writhe  in  my  place,  and  cer 
tainly  I  should  have  beaten  an  abrupt  retreat 
had  not  Frances  quickly  made  answer: 

"  If  you  will  give  me  the  details  of  your  case, 
Fraulein,  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  for  you.  This 
is  my  assistant,  Mr.  Burton,  and  you  may  speak 
quite  as  freely  before  him  as  to  me." 

It  was  a  speech  that,  not  without  intent, 
might  well  have  offended  a  mind  made  sensitive 
by  the  experience  of  similar  wounds,  but  upon 
our  visitor  the  words  alone  effected  visible 
impress:  the  implication  she  appeared  either 
to  ignore  or  to  fail  entirely  to  observe.  Instead 
she  merely  nodded  a  grave  assent  and  straight 
way  seemed  to  forget  me  completely.  Turning 
again  to  Frances,  as  the  detective  and  I  resumed 
our  seats,  she  began  speaking  quite  as  if  I  had 
no  existence,  and  telling  her  story  in  that  splendid 
voice,  without  hesitation  and  with  only  the 
slightest  trace  of  a  foreign  accent. 

"  I  am,"  she  said,  "  a  native  of  the  Wurtem- 
burg.  My  family  is  an  ancient  though  untitled 


10  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

one  in  the  Schwarzwald,  but  I  am  its  last  re 
maining  representative.  As  a  very  young  girl  I 
was  sent  by  my  father  to  a  school  in  Darmstadt 
and  there  met  a  lieutenant  in  the  army,  with  whom 
I  was  foolish  enough  to  fall  desperately  in  love, 
as  I  then  called  it,  although  the  man  was  more 
than  twice  my  age  and  wholly  unworthy  of  any 
woman's  consideration.  Like  many  another  school 
girl,  I  wrote  him  frequent  letters  —  more  than 
a  hundred  in  all  —  some  of  them  so  worded  as 
to  make  the  writer's  identity  quite  clear  to 
even  the  most  casual  reader,  and  several  couched 
in  terms  which,  innocent  as  our  relations  really 
were,  could  well,  as  I  now  see,  be  misinterpreted 
to  my  lasting  disadvantage.  At  the  end,  however, 
of  about  eighteen  months  after  this  affair  began, 
my  father  died  suddenly,  and  the  Lieutenant, 
learning  that  I  was  penniless,  ceased  his  suit. 
For  my  part,  I  returned  home  under  the  impres 
sion  that  I  was  broken-hearted,  and  settled  down 
to  a  commonplace  life  upon  the  small  remains  of 
my  patrimony." 

"  One  moment,"  interrupted  Frances,  raising 
her  head  from  the  cushions  in  which  she  had 
again  buried  it  when  the  Fraulein  began  her 
narrative.  "  If  you  don't  mind  telling  me,  how 
long  ago  was  this?  " 

"  Ten  years,"  replied  our  client;    "  I  was  then 


The  Veiled  Client  11 

only  seventeen.  Within  a  month  after  my 
return  home,"  she  continued,  "  I  heard  that  the 
Lieutenant  had  deserted  from  the  army  and 
completely  disappeared,  leaving  a  great  indebted 
ness  behind  him.  From  that  time  until  two 
months  ago  I  heard  no  more  of  him,  and  soon, 
quite  naturally,  forgot  him  altogether. 

"  At  that  period  it  chanced  that  I  met  and  fell 
in  love  with  a  certain  fellow-countryman.  I  do 
not  care  to  name  him,  nor  do  I  think  that  his 
name  would  be  of  any  importance  to  you  in  the 
performance  of  your  task.  Suffice  it  that  he  is 
a  man  of  so  much  power  and  of  so  high  a  position 
in  the  government  of  the  Empire  that,  when  he 
proposed  for  my  hand  and  our  betrothal  was 
announced,  the  newspapers  gave  much  publicity 
to  the  fact.  Then—" 

The  speaker  paused.  For  the  first  time  she 
showed  the  slightest  tokens  of  embarrassment  and 
her  gloved  fingers  laced  and  interlaced  in  her  lap. 

Frances,  as  if  echoing  her  tone,  helped  her  out. 
'  Then,  I  suppose,"  said  Frances,  "  you  heard 
again  from  our  friend  the  Lieutenant.  Your 
fiance  being  rich  and  powerful,  this  old  admirer 
saw  a  chance  for  a  bargain  and  gave  you  your 
choice  between  paying  him  a  large  sum  of  money 
and  allowing  him  to  send  the  letters  to  your 
betrothed." 


12  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

The  visitor,  with  a  quick  movement,  raised  her 
head. 

"  How,"  she  asked  —  and  yet  her  tone  was 
even  then  rather  defiant  than  quavering  — 
"  how  did  you  learn  of  this?  " 

"  I  didn't  learn  of  it,"  Frances  replied.  "  From 
what  you  have  already  told  me,  it  was  a  foregone 
conclusion.  You  got  the  money?  " 

"  I  got  the  money,"  assented  Fraulein  Meyer. 
"  It  was  less  difficult  than  I  had  at  first  imagined, 
because  the  professional  money-lenders  were,  I 
found,  fully  cognizant  of  my  approaching  mar 
riage  and  more  than  ready  to  make  advances 
at  profitable  terms." 

"  They  keep  advised,"  said  Frances  dryly. 
"  The  Lieutenant,"  she  added,  "  was,  of  course, 
in  America?  " 

'  Yes,  he  was  in  America,  and  I  could  see  no 
way  but  that  I  should  come  to  him  in  person. 
He  was  too  poor  to  cross  to  me,  and  I  knew  no 
one  in  all  Germany  whom  I  could  trust  with 
such  a  mission." 

11  Whereas,  of  course,  if  you  merely  mailed 
him  the  money,  he  would  have  refused  to  return 
the  letters  and  would  have  held  you  up  for 
more.  I  see.  Is  he  a  resident  of  this  city?  " 

"  No,  it  appears  not.  Some  months  ago,  with 
his  brother,  he  rented  a  small  farm  on  the  out- 


The  Veiled  Client 13 

skirts  of  a  little  village  called  Mountville,  in  what 
I  believe  is  known  as  Lancaster  County,  of  this 
State." 

"  And  now,  Fraulein  Meyer,  you  want  me  to  go 
there,  see  this  Lieutenant  —  " 

"  The  name  which  he  has  been  using  is  Jaeger  - 
Hans  Jaeger." 

;'  Thank  you.  You  want  me,  I  say,  to  see  this 
Lieutenant  Jaeger,  pay  the  money  and  get  the 
letters?" 

The  Fraulein  rose  from  her  chair  and,  in  the 
momentary  silence  that  followed,  I  felt  the 
electric  thrill  of  an  approaching  climax. 

"  No,"  she  finally  answered.  "  I  want  you 
to  get  the  letters,  but  the  money  you  may  keep, 
and  the  man  you  will  never  see.  I  myself  have 
been  to  the  farm  this  afternoon,  Miss  Baird, 
and  I  have  learned  that,  at  half-past  nine  o'clock 
this  morning,  Hans  Jaeger  was  found  murdered  in 
his  house." 


CHAPTER   II 

THE    TANGLED    WEB 

"  For  the  Lord  hath  created  a  new  thing  in  the  earth, 
A  woman  shall  compass  a  man." 

FRANCES  BAIRD  let  out  a  low  whistle  and  sat 
suddenly  upright.  In  the  shadow  I  could  see  her 
eyes  grow  green  and  luminous,  shining  like  those 
of  a  tigress,  and  I  knew  that  what  she  had,  a 
minute  ago,  been  inclined  to  refuse  as  a  common 
place  and  uninteresting  case,  she  was  now  about 
to  seize  upon  as  something  really  worthy  of  her 
remarkable  powers.  Instantly  the  whole  atmos 
phere  of  the  room  changed  its  character :  Fraulein 
Meyer  ceased  to  be  a  mere  story-teller  and,  in 
effect,  went  upon  the  witness-stand  for  cross- 
examination. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  this  city,  Frau 
lein?  "  demanded  Frances. 

Our  visitor  showed  no  resentment  at  the  new 
tone  of  the  detective.  Her  manner  remained 
serenely  superior,  but  she  answered  readily: 

"  I  arrived  last  evening  at  eleven  o'clock." 

14 


The  Tangled  Web 15 

"  And  you  crossed  on  what  boat?  " 

"  The  Kaiser  Wilhelm  II  from  Bremen." 

'  Yes  —  that  docked  in  Hoboken  last  night  at 
7.30.  Where  are  you  stopping?  " 

"  At  the  Bellevue." 

"  I  am  asking  you  these  questions,  Fraulein, 
because,  as  you  are  a  stranger  in  this  country 
and  had  strong  reasons  to  dislike  the  dead  man  — 

Frances  had  now  spoken  gently,  almost  hesi 
tatingly;  she  was,  as  I  could  see,  endeavouring 
to  find  the  easiest  road  between  the  truth  that 
must  be  told  and  the  fears  that  might  be  excited. 
But  again  she  need  not  have  worried.  With 
perfect  calm,  our  remarkable  visitor  interrupted: 

"  I  understand  you  perfectly.  That  was  one 
reason  why  I  came  to  you.  Fortunately,  how 
ever,  I  can  quite  easily  account  for  my  where 
abouts  at  the  time  the  murder  must  have  been 
committed." 

"  That  is  good  —  and  it  is  important.  In  what 
way  will  you  account  for  it?  " 

'The  doctor  —  the  coroner's  physician  you 
call  him,  do  you  not  ?  —  said,  I  was  told,  that, 
when  found,  the  man  had  been  dead  only  a  short 
time,  but  all  that  time  I  was  either  in  the  train  or 
else  in  my  hired  carriage  driving  to  Mountville 
from  the  nearest  important  railway-city,  which 
is  Lancaster." 


16  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

Covertly  I  looked  at  Frances.  There  was  a 
cold  aloofness  about  the  manner  in  which  this 
veiled  woman  spoke  of  the  murder  of  a  man 
whom  she  had  once  loved  —  to  risk  a  paradox, 
there  was  a  sort  of  impersonal  selfishness  in  her 
tone — which  sent  an  unpleasant  shiver  through  me. 

But  Frances  was  apparently  unnoting. 

"  Good,"  she  said.  "  Then  you  must  have  left 
Philadelphia  at  about  seven  o'clock?  " 

The  Fraulein  nodded.  "  At  that  very  hour,  and 
I  reached  Lancaster,"  she  explained,  "  about 
two  hours  later." 

"  Had  there  been  any  arrest?  " 

"  None.  But  the  officers  are  looking  for  the 
brother,  who  has  disappeared,  but  who  was  last 
seen,  I  believe,  some  time  this  morning." 

"  How  was  the  killing  done?  " 

"  That  I  do  not  know.  Somebody  said  it  was 
with  a  knife.  That  is  all  that  I  can  tell  you, 
Miss  Baird.  You  must  understand  that  I  made  no 
further  inquiries.  The  nature  of  my  own  mission 
was  so  delicate  that  I  did  not  dare  to  show  any 
great  personal  interest  or  attract  any  undue 
attention.  When  I  found  what  had  happened, 
I  pretended  that  I  was  come  to  the  village  on 
other  affairs  and  that  I  had  stopped  at  the  farm 
merely  out  of  the  same  morbid  curiosity  which 
drew  all  the  neighbours  there." 


The  Tangled  Web  17 

She  spread  out  her  hands  with  a  fine  gesture 
of  finality.  It  was  as  if,  having  told  all  she  knew, 
she  could  dismiss  the  subject  for  ever. 

"  You  made  no  search,  then,  for  your  letters?  " 

"  How  could  I?  The  place  was  in  the  possession 
of  the  police." 

"  I  see,"  said  Frances.  "  And  now  you  want 
me  to  get  them,"  she  repeated. 

Once  again  we  were,  apparently,  at  the  sole 
point  of  importance.  The  murder  of  her  former 
lover  Fraulein  Meyer  could  discuss  without  any 
emotion,  but  the  existence  of  the  letters  and  the 
need  of  their  recovery  brought  at  least  a  slight 
touch  of  feeling  into  her  tone. 

"  You  must  get  them,"  she  said.  "  If  the 
authorities  should  now  discover  them,  the  whole 
matter  would  be  printed  in  your  newspapers  and 
I  should  inevitably  be  ruined  for  ever." 

"  Have  you  any  idea  how  or  where  they  are 
kept?" 

"  I  know  perfectly.  One  of  my  gifts  to  the 
Lieutenant  in  my  schooldays  was  a  handsome 
dispatch-box,  on  the  top  of  which  was  a  gold 
plate,  engraved  with  the  arms :  two  cross-crosslets 
over  a  chevron  azure  upon  a  field  or,  with  a  lion 
rampant  for  crest  and  the  motto,  '  Semper 
Libertas.'  It  was  in  this,  he  wrote  me  in  his  last 
letter,  that  he  kept  what  he  called  his  keepsakes." 


18  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Frances  rose  languidly, 
took  a  step  or  two  away  from  her  client  and  then, 
turning  suddenly,  directly  faced  her. 

"  Now,  Fraulein,"  she  demanded,  "  do  you 
know  why  Jaeger  was  killed?  " 

For  just  an  instant  our  visitor's  self-possession 
was  threatened.  She,  too,  got  to  her  feet,  but 
she  did  it  quickly,  and  I  saw  her  breast  rise  and 
fall  tumultuously. 

"  Miss  Baird,"  she  began,  and  in  her  voice 
I  now  seemed  to  feel  the  lightnings,  "  do  you 
mean  to  hint  that  —  " 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say:  nothing  more.  If 
I  am  to  act  for  you  in  this  matter,  I  must  know 
all  that  you  know." 

"  Then  I  assure  you  that  you  are  already  in 
possession  of  all  the  facts  that  I  can  give  you." 

"Very  well  —  very  well.  And  now  one  thing 
more,  Fraulein:  has  it  not  occurred  to  you  that 
this  man's  brother  might  have  killed  him  in 
order  to  gain  possession  of  those  letters  and 
himself  reap  the  benefit  from  you?  " 

The  woman  nodded. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,   "  that  has  occurred  to  me, 
and  for  that  reason,  if  you  cannot  find  the  dispatch- 
box  on  the  premises,  I  want  you  to  run  down 
this  murderer  and  get  them  from  his  person." 
•  The  two  were  still  standing,  face  to  face,  in 


The  Tangled  Web  19 

the  middle  of  the  room.  Frances  took  one  step 
backward,  reached  to  the  library-table  and 
pressed  the  button,  which  flooded  the  apartment 
with  light. 

"  Certainly,  Fraulein,"  she  said  sweetly.  "  I 
shall  start  at  once,  and  shall  at  least  return 
sometime  to-morrow  to  report.  Can  you  meet 
me  here  at  the  same  hour?  " 

The  visitor  nodded. 

"  You  will  have  no  cause  for  complaint  against 
your  remuneration,"  she  assured  us,  and  turned 
to  go. 

Just  as  she  did  so,  Frances  dashed  past  her, 
as  if  to  open  the  door  for  her,  and,  brushing  by, 
allowed  her  hand  to  catch  in  the  Fraulein's  veil 
with  so  sharp  a  movement  that  the  drapery  was 
brushed  aside. 

It  was  but  a  fleeting  glimpse  that  I  caught,  yet 
it  was  one  that  I  shall  never  forget.  The  face 
was  as  pale  as  if  cut  from  Parian  marble,  and 
as  fine  of  feature  as  if  some  supreme  artist  had 
sculptured  it.  The  carefully  chiseled  temples, 
the  delicately  arched  nose  with  its  sensitive 
nostrils,  the  straight  brows  and  the  haughty 
mouth,  a  vivid  line  of  scarlet  in  the  white  face, 
all  stamped  themselves  for  ever  on  my  memory. 
Under  the  hat  I  caught,  also,  the  flash  of  a  wealth 
of  marvellous  auburn  hair,  and,  for  a  moment, 


20  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

the  gleam  of  black  eyes  alight  with  sudden  sus 
picion  and  hot  hate. 

An  instant  later,  however,  and  the  veil  had 
been  replaced :  Frances  was  offering  the  humblest 
of  apologies  for  her  stupid  blunder;  the  Fraulein 
was  accepting  her  excuses  with  suave  grace,  and, 
finally,  before  my  breathing  had  again  become 
regular,  the  door  had  closed  and  left  me  alone 
with  the  detective. 

Frances  turned  on  me  with  a  quiet  little  laugh 
—  the  laugh  that  she  always  uses  when  deep  in 
the  intoxication  of  some  swift  pursuit. 

"  Sammy,"  said  she,  "there's  the  'phone;  call 
up  the  Belle vue." 

I  got  the  number,  and  Frances,  after  a  look 
into  the  hall  to  make  sure  that  it  was  deserted, 
began  a  rapid  conversation  with  the  hotel-clerk. 

"  Quite  right,"  she  said,  as  she  restored  the 
receiver  to  its  hook.  "  The  Fraulein  Meyer  is 
stopping  at  the  Belle  vue.  She  arrived  there  at 
eleven  o'clock  last  night  and  was  there  until 
six-thirty  this  morning,  at  which  rather  remark 
able  hour  she  went  out  alone.  Her  trunks  are 
tagged  from  Bremen  via  the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  II. 
Now  then,  there  is  a  night  train  for  Lancaster, 
the  nearest  possible  point  to  Mountville,  in  half 
an  hour.  I'm  going  and  you're  going  along. 
What  do  you  think  of  our  client?  " 


The  Tangled  Web  21 

I  had  no  doubt  in  my  own  mind. 

"I  think,"  said  I,  "that  she  is  the  most 
beautiful  woman  I  have  ever  seen." 

Frances,  pinning  her  hat,  snorted. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  about  that,"  she  answered, 
"  but  I  am  quite  certain  on  one  point:  the  lady 
is  a  queen  of  liars." 


CHAPTER   III 

HER    COUNTERFEIT    PRESENTMENT 

"  Bread  of  deceit  is  sweet  to  a  man;  but  afterwards  his 
mouth  shall  be  filled  with  gravel." 

EVEN  at  the  distance  of  a  year  and  with  the 
calm  advantage  of  a  purely  reminiscent  mood,  I 
find  it  difficult  to  describe  the  impression  which, 
in  that  brief  visit,  our  puzzling  client  had  made 
upon  me.  I  had  not  talked  to  her  at  all.  She 
had,  in  fact,  first  plainly  shown  that  she  objected 
to  my  presence,  and  had  then,  when  that  presence 
was  forced  upon  her,  ended  by  ignoring  me  alto 
gether.  Her  entire  visit,  moreover,  had  consumed 
scarcely  half  an  hour  and,  at  its  end,  I  had  seen 
only  so  much  of  her  face  as  one  might  get  by  a 
sudden  bolt  of  lightning.  Young  I  was,  but  my 
ten  years'  experience  in  newspaper  work  could 
hardly,  I  fancied,  have  left  me  impressionable. 
And  yet,  in  spite  of  these  things  —  or,  perhaps, 
after  all,  because  of  them  —  I  found  myself, 
in  the  face  of  Frances's  sudden  opposition, 
impelled  to  take  up  the  cudgels  in  our  visitor's 
behalf. 

22 


Her  Counterfeit  Presentment          23 

Nor  was  the  mood  wholly  unaware  of  its  own 
fallacy.  I  remember  clearly  the  hot  flush  of 
anger  that  burned  in  my  cheeks  when  my  friend 
thus  coolly  branded  as  a  liar  the  woman  who  had 
only  just  left  us.  I  remember  the  quick  retort 
that  leaped  to  my  lips.  But  I  remember  also 
the  rush  of  doubt  that  crowded  fast  upon  its 
heels,  the  keen  pang  of  my  wounded  pride,  still 
bleeding  from  the  supercilious  thrusts  so  lately 
suffered,  and  the  immediate  sense  of  relief  when 
Frances's  hurried  orders  cut  short  the  protest 
I  was  about  to  interpose  and  set  me  busy  with 
preparations  for  our  instant  departure. 

"  Are  you  ready  to  start  at  once?  "  she  de 
manded. 

I  reminded  her  that  my  work  had  for  some  years 
been  of  a  character  which  made  it  necessary  for 
me  always  to  keep  a  suit-case  packed  for  at 
least  a  week's  journey. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  she  rattled.  "  I  don't 
suppose  that  we  can  make  Mount ville  to-night, 
but  we  ought  to  have  no  trouble  in  getting  to 
Lancaster  so  that  we  could  drive  out,  or  take  a 
trolley,  bright  and  early  in  the  morning.  I 
have  only  one  or  two  things  to  toss  into  a  bag, 
and,  while  I  am  at  that,  you  look  up  a  time-table ; 
'phone  to  the  station,  reserving  a  compartment; 
ring  for  a  messenger-boy,  and  send  him  to  your 


24  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

rooms  for  your  luggage,  and  then  call  a  taxi. 
By  that  time  I  shall  be  as  ready  as  you  are." 

And  by  that  time  she  was.  From  the  file  of 
railroad-folders,  of  which  she  kept  always  the 
latest  issues  in  a  special  pigeon-hole  of  her  desk, 
I  found  that,  although  Mountville  was  not  on 
the  main  passenger-line  and  was  seemingly  im 
possible  of  nocturnal  access,  we  could,  neverthe 
less,  in  forty  minutes,  get  a  train  that  would  pass 
through  Lancaster.  It  was  an  express  and  was 
not  supposed  to  stop  there,  but  the  telephone 
put  me  in  touch,  at  his  club,  with  a  railway 
official  for  whom  I  had  once  done  a  large  news 
paper  favour,  and  he  promised  to  issue  the  neces 
sary  orders  that  would  let  us  off  at  the  little  city 
we  were  seeking  to  reach.  This  difficulty  cleared 
away,  I  was  so  relieved  that  I  did  not  much  mind 
the  curt  word  from  the  station  that  told  me  we 
should  have  to  ride  in  a  day-coach,  and,  as  all 
my  other  commissions  were  successfully  executed, 
I  was  rather  well  pleased  with  my  abilities  in 
the  r61e  of  courier  when,  at  last  and  with  not  a 
moment  to  spare,  we  settled  ourselves  for  our 
two  hours'  ride  and  the  express  pulled  out  of 
the  West  Philadelphia  Station. 

But  even  then,  when  my  fatuous  mood  had 
had  so  much  time  and  cause  to  clear  away,  I 
was  still,  I  found,  a  little  bitter  at  Frances's 


Her  Counterfeit  Presentment          25 

denunciation  of  the  Fraulein,  and,  at  any  rate, 
very  curious  to  discover  its  reason.  My  detective, 
however,  was  also  unchanged;  her  original 
opinion  still  remained,  and  her  report  of  it  was 
still  more  assertive  than  argumentative. 

"If  you  please,"  she  replied  to  my  query  in  a 
caustic  whisper,  "  you  will  not  talk  quite  so 
loudly  in  a  crowded  railroad  coach." 

"  But  why,"  I  persisted,  though  in  a  lower 
voice,  — "  why  do  you  feel  so  sure  about  the 
woman's  character  when  you  have  scarcely 
exchanged  a  thousand  words  with  her?  " 

Frances  shrugged  her  little  shoulders. 

"  I  know  the  Fraulein  is  a  liar,"  she  said, 
"  because  I  know  a  lie  when  I  hear  one.  It's  my 
business  to  be  acquainted  with  each  of  the 
thousand  and  three  brands." 

"  But  this  woman,"  I  protested,  "is  no  low 
type.  Anybody  could  see  that." 

"  I  didn't  say  that  she  was  a  low  type;  I  said 
she  was  a  liar." 

'  The  report  from  the  hotel  people  tends  to 
confirm  her  in  her  alibi  for  the  time  of  the  mur 
der." 

"  My  dear  Sammy,  you  do  so  confuse  the  issues! 
No  one  accused  her  of  assassination.  Do  you 
suppose  I  should  ever  have  allowed  her  to  leave 
my  rooms  unshadowed  if  I  had  for  an  instant 


26  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

thought  that  she  was  even  an  accomplice  to 
that  killing?  " 

"  Then,  if  you  believe  what  she  told  us  about 
the  killing,  what  part  of  her  story  is  it  that  you 
doubt?  " 

"  Every  other  word  of  it.  And  I  don't  doubt  it : 
I  deny  it.  That  yarn  is  a  direct  insult  to  the 
intelligence  of  everyone  it's  told  to.  It  hasn't  a 
probable  feature.  In  the  first  place,  the  woman 
isn't  a  day  over  twenty-five,  although  she  cer 
tainly  has  seen  a  lot  in  that  time  and  although 
it  takes  a  mighty  motive  to  make  a  woman  lie 
on  the  wrong  side  of  her  age.  In  the  second  place, 
scheming  European  lieutenants  don't  commit 
themselves  to  young  girls  without  making  sure 
of  the  girls'  fortunes  by  any  of  the  many  safe, 
easy  and  sure  means.  In  the  third  place,  no 
man  in  his  senses  would  expect  a  Continental 
woman  to  cross  the  Atlantic  alone  on  such  a 
mission  as  she  describes,  and  no  woman  of  any 
race,  who  possessed  the  calmness  and  resources 
which  our  friend  displayed,  would  wait  until 
she  got  here  to  employ  a  detective.  Last  of  all, 
Sammy,  did  you  happen  to  notice  her  ac 
cent?  " 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  noticed  that  she  had  an 
accent." 

"  Good.     In  that   case   you  must   also  have 


Her  Counterfeit  Presentment          27 

noticed   that,  whatever  her  nationality  may  be, 
it  certainly  is  not  German." 

Of  course  I  had  not  noticed  anything  of  the 
sort,  and  of  course  I  was  now  thoroughly  angry. 
However,  I  knew  from  experience  that  anger 
with  Frances  Baird  is  never  a  paying  proposition, 
and  so  I  bought  a  copy  of  an  illustrated  magazine 
from  the  newsboy  who  was  passing  down  the 
aisle,  and,  by  the  vile  light  of  the  railway-coach, 
began  sulkily  to  run  through  its  pages,  Frances, 
in  the  meantime,  quite  coolly,  and  as  comfortably 
as  might  be,  settling  herself  for  a  nap. 

I  was  turning  the  leaves  rapidly  and,  my  mind 
intent  upon  the  problem  of  our  curious  quest, 
was  giving  small  heed  to  the  pictured  pages 
that  passed  in  quick  parade  before  my  eyes,  but 
suddenly  that  disassociated  observation  which, 
at  such  times,  seems  to  stand  as  a  sentinel  at 
the  outpost  of  our  consciousness,  sounded  a 
quick  alarm.  Just  what  it  had  noted  I  was  not 
told,  but  something,  I  was  immediately  aware  — 
something  on  a  recently  turned  page  —  had 
possessed  an  importance  which  would  compel 
me,  now  with  every  faculty  alert,  to  return  to  it. 

I  did  so  at  once,  and,  three  pages  back,  found 
the  illustration  that  had  aroused  me.  It  was  one 
of  a  half-dozen  reproductions  of  portraits  from 
the  brush  of  Leinbach;  it  was  endorsed  merely: 


28  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"  Portrait  of  a  Lady,"  and  its  original  was  un 
questionably  the  Fraulein  Meyer. 

I  looked  at  Frances.  She  was  fast  asleep,  and 
I  was  tempted  to  learn  more  of  the  picture  before 
awakening  her.  The  portraits  were  illustrations 
for  an  article  on  the  work  of  the  German  artist, 
and  I  was  reasonably  sure  that  the  subjects 
themselves  were  Teutons.  Nevertheless,  I  re 
solved  to  consult  the  text,  find  what  reference  I 
could  to  this  particular  likeness  and  then,  with 
my  case  fully  made  out,  confront  my  companion 
with  a  complete  controversion  of  her  theories. 

This,  however,  was  not  so  easy.  I  first  ran 
through  the  article  hurriedly;  then  read  it  word 
for  word ;  but  nowhere  —  as  is  so  often  annoy  ingly 
the  case  —  could  I  discover  a  word  about  the 
particular  picture  in  which  I  was  interested.  All 
the  others,  it  seemed,  were  criticized  at  con 
siderable  length,  but  this  one  had,  apparently, 
been  added  by  the  art-editor  merely  for  its  own 
sake  and  quite  without  a  word  of  explanation. 

Not  that  there  was  any  question  about  its 
identity.  No  one  who  had  once  seen  even  for  a 
fleeting  second  the  Fraulein  could  have  enter 
tained  a  momentary  doubt.  The  pose,  oddly 
enough,  was  almost  precisely  that  of  our  visitor 
as  she  had  stood  upon  entering  Frances's  studio: 
the  tall,  graceful  figure,  the  black  draperies, 


Her  Counterfeit  Presentment  29 

the  very  hat,  and  the  haughty  poise  of  the  head 
were  alone  enough  to  convince  me  even  had  the 
face,  with  its  finely  cut  temples,  delicately 
arched  nose,  straight  brows  and  proud  mouth  — 
even  had  these  been  veiled  as  they  were  when 
the  Fraulein  first  appeared  before  us. 

I  leaned  over  and  shook  Frances  almost  roughly. 
In  accord  with  long  professional  habit,  she  was 
at  once  clean  awake. 

:<  There,"  said  I,  shoving  the  open  magazine 
under  her  nose;  "  what  do  you  make  of  that?  " 

For  the  second  time  that  evening  Frances 
whistled. 

"  It's  our  client  right  enough,"  she  assented. 
"  Have  you  read  the  article?  " 

I  nodded. 

"  What  does  it  say  of  the  lady? " 

"  Not  one  word,  unfortunately.  It's  merely  a 
criticism  of  Leinbach's  work.  But  that  makes 
no  difference.  It  proves  you  were  wrong  anyhow, 
for  Leinbach  was  a  German  — 

The  light  of  interest  died  instantly  in  Frances's 
brown  eyes. 

"  And,  therefore,"  she  ironically  echoed,  "  he 
painted  nothing  but  his  own  countrymen.  Shade 
of  Van  Dyck!  —  I  suppose  he  lived  on  his  fees 
from  portraits  of  penniless  beauties  of  the  Schwarz- 
wald!  —  Oh,  let  me  go  to  sleep  again!  " 


30  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

She  actually  snuggled  back  once  more,  pre 
pared  to  drop  into  the  immediate  slumber  that 
she  could  always  command,  and  I  was  sufficiently 
annoyed  at  her  taunts  to  feel  some  secret  satis 
faction  when  the  brakeman,  thrusting  his  head 
in  at  the  door,  frustrated  her  plans  by  announcing 
that,  if  we  were  to  force  the  express  to  stop  at 
Lancaster,  we  must  prepare  for  a  speedy  exit. 

But  our  suspended  hostilities  were  not  destined 
to  speedy  resumption.  The  night  was  already 
so  late  as  to  be  almost  morning,  and  we  were 
both  glad  to  find  our  rooms  ready  at  the  hotel  — 
so  glad  that  I  for  my  part,  awoke  at  seven-thirty 
with  many  protestations  and  a  warm  temper. 

Frances,  however,  came  down  to  breakfast  in 
excellent  spirits.  When  once  she  was  within 
easy  reach  of  the  scene  of  a  crime,  her  mood  was 
always  one  of  energetic  enthusiasm  and  her 
manner  honey-sweet.  To-day  she  seemed  com 
pletely  to  have  forgotten  our  foolish  quarrel  of 
the  evening  previous;  could  not  be  sufficiently 
solicitous  over  my  brief  slumber,  and  had  herself, 
it  appeared,  been  up  quite  half  an  hour,  arranging 
for  a  carriage  to  drive  us  out  to  Mountville,  five 
miles  away. 

"And  what  about  the  murder?  "  I  asked. 
"  How  do  the  gossips  treat  the  affair?  " 

"  I  haven't  inquired  of  a  soul  and  I  haven't 


Her  Counterfeit  Presentment          31 

glanced  at  a  paper,"  she  answered  smiling. 
"  Ever  since  I  listened  to  the  talk  of  a  sewing- 
circle  and  arrested  the  wrong  man  in  the  North- 
brook  counterfeiting  case,  I  have  forsworn 
gossips,  and  ever  since  I  met  you,  I  have  mis 
trusted  newspapers." 

I  bowed  my  acknowledgments. 

"  Nevertheless,"  I  began,  "  it  might  at  least  be 
interesting — • " 

"  Before  the  day  is  over,"  she  interrupted,  "  I 
expect  to  have  quite  enough  to  interest  me, 
without  beginning  on  nothings  at  half  after  seven 
in  the  morning.  Besides,  there's  no  chance  left. 
There's  the  carriage  now,  and  the  driver  is  so 
much  of  a  Pennsylvania-German  that  he  doesn't 
speak  a  word  of  English." 

We  climbed  aboard  our  conveyance  forthwith 
and  in  a  moment  more  were  bowling  out  of  town 
and  along  the  turnpike. 

In  spite  of  the  grewsome  errand  on  which  we 
were  bound,  the  drive  was  pleasant.  Trolley- 
cars  banged  by  us  at  full  speed ;  neat,  prosperous 
farm-houses  nodded  in  the  morning  glow ;  broad, 
rich  fields  rolled  away  upon  either  hand,  now 
dotted  with  sleek  cattle  and  now  fresh  with  the 
new  green  of  a  prospective  crop. 

I  took  in  deep  draughts  of  the  pure,  fresh  air. 

"  By  Jove,"   I  exclaimed,   "  this  is  something 


32  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

like  vacation!  What  a  morning  it  is,  to  be 
sure." 

Frances's  brown  eyes  were  dreaming  on  the 
far  horizon. 

"  Lovely,"  she  ecstatically  murmured.  "  It  is 
just  such  a  morning  as  the  one  we  arrested 
Horace  Bechtel  for  the  Brumbaugh  murder." 

There  is  nothing  to  be  done  with  a  spirit  so 
narrowed,  and  I  was  too  wise  to  attempt  any 
thing.  Instead,  I  consoled  myself  with  the  con 
gratulation  that  neither  my  profession  nor  a 
disappointment  in  love  had  hardened  me  against 
the  joys  of  the  world,  and  I  proceeded  to  make 
the  best  of  the  drive  until  a  notable  increase  in 
the  number  of  houses  along  the  roadside  warned 
me  that  we  must  be  approaching  Mount ville. 

To  ask  our  driver,  I  knew  would  be  useless. 
My  one  or  two  attempts  to  engage  that  cryptic 
individual  in  conversation  had  brought  forth  only 
monosyllabic  replies  in  a  tongue  that  I  did  not 
understand,  and  so,  when  we  saw  a  couple  of 
men  approaching  down  the  road,  I  leaned  for 
ward,  took  the  reins  from  the  horny  fist  of  our 
conductor  and  myself  brought  the  horses  to  a 
standstill. 

Frances  leaped  to  the  ground  and  faced  the 
newcomers. 

"  Good  morning,"  she  began  blithely. 


Her  Counterfeit  Presentment          33 

They  nodded. 

"  Is  this  Mountville?  "  she  continued. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  foremost  —  a  tall  man  and 
bearded.  "  Who  was  you  lookin'  fer?  " 

"  Nobody  in  particular,"  Frances  assured  him. 
"  In  fact,  it  was  only  a  place  we  were  after  — 
not  a  person.    We  were  curious  to  see  the  Jaeger 
farm." 

I  looked  for  some  sign  of  awe  at  the  mention 
of  that  now  tragic  name,  but  the  stolid  faces  of 
the  country-folk  remained  unaltered.  Apparently 
it  took  something  more  than  violent  death  to 
move  them  to  any  facial  betrayal  of  emotion. 

"  The  Jaeger  farm?  "  repeated  the  spokesman. 

Frances  assented. 

Beyond  us,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
turnpike,  stood,  quite  alone,  a  little  two-story 
house,  sadly  in  need  of  repair.  From  this  house 
a  clay  road  led  to  the  very  point  at  which  we  had 
stopped  our  carriage,  and,  down  the  road,  half 
way  to  us,  two  other  men  were  now  approaching. 
It  was  toward  the  dilapidated  building  that  our 
new  acquaintance  waved  his  hand. 

"That  there's  the  Jaeger  farm,"  he  said,  still 
quite  unmoved.  :<  Turn  off  here:  the  road  goes 
by  the  door  yet." 

Even  Frances,  calmly  as  she  herself  was  wont 
to  sup  on  horrors,  began  to  feel  the  chill  that  I 


34  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

was  experiencing  at  this  unneighbourly  stolidity 
—  to  fear,  it  seemed,  that  she  was,  in  some  way, 
misunderstood. 

"  You  are  sure?  "  she  persisted. 

But  the  rustic  showed  immediate  signs  of 
offence  at  her  doubts,  which  he  was  quick  to 
misconstrue  into  bantering. 

"  Ef  you  knowed  besser  as  I  did,"  he  mumbled, 
"you  didn't  have  fer  to  ast  oncet."  —And  he 
was  about  to  move  on  when  Frances  put  out 
her  slim,  strong  hand  and  detained  him. 

"  One  moment,"  she  said.  "  I  really  didn't 
mean  to  offend  you,  and  I  beg  your  pardon  if 
I  have  offended.  The  name  isn't  unusual  and  I 
thought  I  might  have  struck  the  wrong  family. 
I  mean  the  farm  of  Hans  Jaeger  and  Wilhelm 
his  brother." 

"  Well,"  growled  the  rustic,  "  that's  what  I'm 
givin'  you  yet.  That  there's  their  place,  and," 
he  continued,  nodding  his  head  toward  the  other 
two  men,  who  were  by  this  time  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  us  up  the  dirt  road,  "  ef  you  want  to 
talk  to  Hans  an'  Wilhelm  Jaeger  themselves, 
why,  this  is  them  now." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    MURDER   AT    MOUNTVILLE 
"  These  men  die  the  common  death  of  all  men." 

I  HAVE  observed  Frances  Baird  in  a  wide 
variety  of  situations,  any  one  of  which  was 
calculated  to  shake  the  nerve  of  the  bravest 
man.  I  have  watched  her  hold  up  three  of  the 
most  dangerous  train-robbers  with  never  so  much 
as  the  flutter  of  an  eyelid;  often  have  I  known 
her  to  face  the  several  forms  of  death  with  serenity, 
and  once  at  least  —  it  was  in  the  case  of  a  certain 
South  American  President  —  she  met  the  threat 
of  torture  with  a  smile.  Against  about  every 
form  of  surprise,  against  almost  every  unexpected 
turn  of  fortune,  I  have  wagered  her  proof.  But 
now  —  when  she  had  come  merrily  forth  to 
investigate  a  murder  and  was  informed  calmly 
that  the  murdered  man  was  walking  toward 
her  in  the  company  of  his  assassin  —  now,  for 
the  first  time  in  our  long  friendship,  she  gave 
way  to  sheer  amazement.  Her  brown  eyes  first 
stared  at  the  speaker  and  then  grew  suddenly 

35 


36  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

fixed  upon  the  approaching  figures  he  had  so 
astoundingly  indicated;  her  jaw  dropped  as  if 
she  herself  had  been  fatally  smitten,  and  her 
hand  slipped  limply  from  the  farmer's  arm. 

It  was  this,  I  think,  that  saved  the  situation. 
For  the  rustic,  thus  released,  began  to  amble 
disgruntedly  away,  and  the  movement  brought 
my  friend  back  to  her  usual  quick-thinking  self. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  she  however  asked, 
with  one  last  attempt  to  satisfy  her  preconceived 
notions  of  the  situation,  -  "do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  that  these  two  men  coming  this  way  are 
Hans  and  Wilhelm  Jaeger?  " 

"  That's  how  they  call  themselves,"  the  farmer 
answered. 

"  Then,"  said  Frances,  "  there  has  been  no  —  . 
But  never  mind,"  she  hurriedly  concluded.  ;'  I 
am  very  much  obliged  to  you  —  and  —  and 
good  day."  With  which  words  she  literally 
pushed  the  farmers  on  their  way  and  turned  a 
shamed  face  to  me.  "  Well,"  she  laughed,  "  can 
you  beat  that  for  a  puzzle?  " 

I  was  able  at  first  only  to  shake  my  head.  If 
Frances  had  been  amazed,  I  was  frankly  dum- 
founded.  It  seemed  certain  that  we  were  all  the 
figments  of  some  weird  nightmare. 

"  What  does  it  mean?  "  she  asked,  more  of 
herself  than  of  me,  and,  putting  her  small,  white 


The  Murder  at  Mountville  37 

hands  to  her  forehead,  "  What  does  it  mean?  " 
she  repeated. 

"  All  I  can  make  out,"  I  ruefully  confessed, 
"  is  that  someone  with  a  low  sense  of  humour 
has  put  up  a  very  poor  joke  on  us." 

Frances  laughed. 

"  Good!  "  she  cried.  "  Now  will  you  accept 
my  judgment  of  the  beautiful  Fraulein's  veracity? 
—  But  there's  more  in  this  than  a  stupid  hoax," 
she  ran  on  softly,  —  "a  good  deal  more." 

"  Just  what  is  in  it?  "  I  wondered. 

She  turned  from  me  quickly. 

"  I  propose  to  find  out,"  she  said,  "  and  I  may 
as  well  begin  with  our  friends,  the  Jaegers.  Here 
they  are." 

There  they  were  indeed,  so  close  upon  us  that 
they  might  well  have  heard  her  concluding  words 
and  now  so  much  more  than  ever  a  matter  of 
interest  that  I  studied  them  with  no  small  amount 
of  care. 

The  brothers  were  of  about  an  age  —  neither 
could  have  been  much  over  forty  or  under  forty- 
eight  —  and,  roughly,  they  presented  a  sort  of 
general  resemblance  one  to  the  other.  Both 
were  of  good  height  and  bore  themselves  —  as 
if  to  account  for  at  least  a  portion  of  the  Fraulein's 
story  —  in  a  fashion  that  unmistakably  bespoke 
a  military  training.  Both  were  keen-eyed  men 


38  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

of  rather  distinguished  features,  bearded  and 
tanned  from  their  farm-life,  but  none  the  less 
plainly  unused  to  their  present  occupation. 
Yet  in  manner  there  was  between  them  a  vast 
difference  at  once  manifest.  The  one  —  I  suppose 
he  was  the  elder  —  had  something  in  his  sullen 
silence  that,  though  approaching  dignity,  was 
curiously  like  the  yokel  who  had  just  left  us, 
whereas  the  other,  to  whom  Frances  addressed 
her  remarks,  was  so  ready-tongued  and  yet  so 
rambling  in  his  replies  that  I  began  soon  to 
suspect  him  of  some  serious  mental  failing. 

'  You  are  the  brothers  Jaeger? "  inquired 
Frances,  putting  on  her  best  smile. 

The  younger  man  thrice  bobbed  his  head  in 
ready  confirmation  and  grinned  with  a  leer  that 
struck  me  as  about  the  most  unpleasant  sub 
stitute  for  a  smile  that  I  had  ever  seen. 

'  We  are  the  brothers  Jaeger,  Madame,"  he 
cackled;  "it  is  so  that  our  father  named 
us." 

His  voice  was  a  shrill  piping  and  his  construction 
was  new  to  me,  but  I  noted  with  satisfaction 
that  his  accent,  although  stronger,  was  precisely 
the  counterpart  of  the  Fraulein's  Meyer's. 

"  And  you  live  "  -  Frances  pointed  inquiringly 
to  the  dilapidated  house  on  the  hill  —  "up 
there?" 


The  Murder  at  Mountville  39 

"  Yes,  Madame,  it  is  there  that  we  have  lived 
these  six  weeks." 

"  Hum,"  said  Frances,  as  if  in  dry  protest 
against  that  ingratiating  grin;  "own  the  place, 
do  you?  " 

"  Ah,  no,  we  are  tenant-farmers  only." 

"  Farmers  by  occupation,  I  suppose?  " 

"  By  occupation,  Madame." 

"  And  training?  "  she  urged  him. 

"  Even  so.  —  What  a  beautiful  farm  it  was!  — 
We  left  it,  thinking  that  we  do  better  in  America. 
—  But  we  do  only  worse.  It  was  in  Saxony.  - 
One  month  and  a  half  have  we  been  here.  Over 
there  we  were  born.  —  It  was  our  father's  and 
his  father's  before  him.  —  What  was  it  that 
Madame  intended  to  do  us  the  honour  to  command 
of  us?  " 

He  leaned  forward  as  he  added  the  last,  still 
leering,  and  rubbing  his  hands  —  which  were 
not  the  hands  of  a  born  farmer  —  together  in  a 
manner  disgustingly  humble.  But  I  noticed 
that  his  little  rat-like  eyes  were  first  looking  over 
Frances  with  considerable  care  and  were  next 
turned  upon  me  and  the  carriage  for  an  examina 
tion  equally  thorough. 

The  detective,  however,  was  quite  as  observant 
as  I  and  fully  as  sharp  as  her  questioner.  It 
was  true  that,  having  seen  all  that  he  chose  to 


40  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

see  of  us,  he  had,  by  his  inquiry,  brought  us  up 
with  a  round  turn,  but  it  was  also  true  that 
Frances,  satisfied  that  nothing  was  here  to  be 
learned,  was  fully  prepared  to  end  the  inter 
view. 

'  You  are  very  kind,"  she  answered  graciously, 
"  but  I  am  afraid  that  you  can  do  nothing.  My 
friend  here,  Mr.  Burton,  was  thinking  of  pur 
chasing  a  farm,  and  the  man  to  whom  you  just 
now  saw  us  talking  said  that  yours  was  probably 
for  sale." 

Jaeger's  grin  broadened  and,  broadening,  waxed 
uncannily  suspicious. 

"  Strange,"  he  said;  "  I  had  been  sure  that  our 
neighbours  they  all  know  we  did  but  rent  our 
little  spot  of  ground.  —  I  wish  you  a  good  day." 

And,  with  a  quick  movement,  he  had  turned 
his  back  upon  us,  thrust  his  hand  into  his  brother's 
armpit  and  was  leading  away  that  individual, 
who  had  all  this  while  been  glowering  in  silence 
from  under  the  shadow  of  his  deep-rimmed  hat. 

Frances  leaped  into  the  carriage. 

"  Lancaster,"  she  whispered  to  the  stolid 
coachman,  who  had  passed  through  both  inter 
views  without  a  sign  of  interest  and  who  now 
turned  the  horses'  heads  toward  home. 

:<  Well,"  she  continued,  settling  into  the  seat 
beside  me,  "  what  do  you  make  of  it  now?  " 


The  Murder  at  Mountville  41 

"  Oh,  come,"  I  said,  "  that's  your  business. 
I'm  only  a  reporter." 

But  the  detective  maintained  her  suavity. 

"  You're  right,"  she  admitted;  "  but  just  now 
I'm  a  failure  in  my  own  profession." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  I  admitted,  mollified  by 
her  frankness.  "  The  only  thing  that  I  can  say 
for  certain  is  that  your  Dutch  friend  is  crazy." 

"  Not  quite  crazy,  Sammy.  He  may  get  there 
in  time,  but  just  now  he  is  only  extremely  sly. 
He  was  altogether  too  sharp  for  me,  at  any  rate, 
and  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he  had  got  more 
out  of  me  by  looking  me  over  than  I  got  out  of 
him  with  all  my  fool  questions.  —  I  wonder 
what  it  is  that  he's  trying  to  hide.  Somehow  or 
other,  I  shall  discover  that." 

"  It's  all  one  to  me,"  I  said.  "  I  don't  like  to 
be  beaten  by  a  woman  and  a  lunatic.  But  what 
end  are  you  going  to  start  work  from  —  Phila 
delphia  or  Mountville?  " 

"  I've  not  yet  decided.  Of  course,  the  handsome 
Fraulein  won't  show  up  at  my  quarters  to-night." 

"  Not  unless  she's  crazy,  too." 

"  But,  on  the  other  hand,  we  must  get  hold 
of  her  somehow  before  she  leaves  the  city, 
Sammy." 

"  Yes,  we  must  —  if  she  hasn't  left  it  already." 

"  You're  right  again!  "  she  cried.     "  We  must 


42  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

'phone  the  Bellevue  as  soon  as  we  reach  Lan 
caster.    What  time  is  it?  " 

I  consulted  my  watch. 

"  Half -past  nine,"  I  said. 

"  Just  the  hour  at  which,  yesterday,  the  murder 
was  supposed  to  have  occurred.  Oh,  well,  we'll 
telephone  as  soon  as  we  reach  our  hotel;  get  a 
bite  of  lunch,  and  then  run  back  to  Philadelphia." 

The  first  portions  of  the  programme  were  carried 
out  according  to  schedule,  but  the  news  from 
the  Bellevue  was  not  comforting. 

"  No,"  came  the  clerk's  far-away  answer  to  my 
rapid  inquiries  by  long-distance  telephone  to  the 
Philadelphia  hotel;  "  the  Fraulein  Meyer  has  left 
here." 

"  Great  Scott,  Herbert!  "  I  thundered,  as  if  my 
ability  to  be  heard  at  a  distance  of  seventy  miles 
were  dependent  upon  my  lung-power.  '  This 
is  Burton.  —  Yes,  Burton  of  the  Globe-Express.  - 
It's  a  big  beat  for  me,  if  I  can  land  it,  so  open 
up,  old  man,  and  tell  me  when  she  got  out." 

"  At  seven  o'clock,"  came  the  clerk's  answer. 

"  This  morning?  "  I  bellowed,  forgetting  that 
it  could  have  been  at  no  other  time. 

1  Yes,  this  morning." 

"Gone  for  good?" 

"Paid  her  bill." 

"Took  her  baggage?" 


The  Murder  at  Mountville  43 

"  Yes,  left  in  a  four-wheeler  for  Broad  Street 
Station.  Wait  a  minute." -  —  And  then,  after 
I  had  stamped  about  the  booth  for  twice  that 
time,  my  ear  glued  to  the  receiver:  "  The  head 
porter  says  it  was  checked  to  New  York.  That's 
all  we  know.  Sorry.  Good-bye!  " 

Ruefully  I  reported  to  Frances. 

"It's  my  fault,"  she  declared.  "  Feeling  as  I 
did  about  that  woman,  I  should  have  had  her 
shadowed.  Now  the  best  we  can  do  is  to  wait 
here  and  eat  our  lunch  —  we  can't  get  a  train 
back  to  Philadelphia  before  that,  anyhow." 

"  You  mean  to  go  back?  "  I  asked  in  amaze 
ment. 

"  I  mean  to  go  forward,"  she  answered,  "but 
there  is  obviously  nothing  to  be  gained  from  the 
Jaegers  —  just  yet.  No,  I  must  trace  your 
Fraulein  to  New  York.  Just  what  her  game  is 
I  don't  know,  but  I  certainly  shall  know  before 
I  am  done  with  it." 

And  so  we  remained  in  Lancaster  until  noon, 
ate  our  luncheon  and  proceeded  leisurely  train- 
ward.  In  fact,  the  train  was  just  rushing  into 
the  station  when  Frances,  who  had  left  me  to 
go  to  the  news-stand,  laid  sudden  hold  of  my 
shoulder  and  swung  me  right  face  about  with 
such  violence  that  my  suit-case  dropped  from 
my  hand  and  almost  pitched  under  the  wheels. 


44  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"  Look  out!  "  I  called  with  some  feeling.  "  Do 
you  want  me  to  go  to  the  hospital  instead  of  to 
Philadelphia?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  stay  right  here,"  said  Frances. 
"  I  want  you  to  read  that." 

Without  another  word  she  thrust  toward  me 
the  early  edition  of  a  local  afternoon  paper,  and 
pointed  to  a  scare-head  on  the  first  page: 

MURDER  AT  MOUNTVILLE 

Hans  Jaeger,  a  German  Farmer,  Found  Stabbed 
to  Death. 

His  Brother  Wilhelm  Missing. 

CRIME    DISCOVERED    AT    9.30    A.  M. 

"  Just  twenty-four  hours  late,"  said  Frances. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    CRIMSON   THUMB 

"  In  the  same  hour  came  forth  the  fingers  of  a  man's 
hand,  and  wrote  over  against  the  candlestick  upon  the 
plaster  of  the  wall." 

DON'T  ask  me  what  I  said.  I  don't  know  what 
it  was;  I  am  only  sure  that,  in  any  case,  it  was 
some  piece  of  superlative  stupidity.  What  com 
ment  could,  after  all,  be  adequate?  We  had 
been  sent  up  here  to  investigate  a  murder  which, 
we  were  told,  had  occurred  at  a  certain  hour  of 
one  day,  and  now,  after  seeing  the  victim  and 
speaking  with  him,  we  were  informed  that  the 
assassination  had  occurred  at  the  same  hour 
on  the  day  following  —  at  not  much  more  than 
fifteen  minutes  after  we  had  left  the  predestined 
scene ! 

The  first  words  I  remember  uttering,  as  I 
began  to  emerge  from  the  emotional  anaesthetic, 
were  the  feeble  ones: 

"  Do  you  believe  it?  " 

"  Of  course,"   Frances  laughed.     "  I  am  past 

45 


46  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

amazement  now,  but  I  can  sympathize  with 
you." 

"  Then  what,"  I  piped,  still  helplessly,  "  do 
you  propose  doing?  " 

"  First  of  all,  I  propose  going  right  back  to 
the  Jaeger  farm.  There's  no  time  to  lose,  unless 
we  want  to  let  the  police  ruin  everything.  We'll 
just  charter  one  of  these  deep-sea-going  station 
cabs." 

We  did  so  at  once,  and,  before  the  Philadelphia 
train  had  left  the  station,  we  were  again  on  our 
way  to  Mountville,  Frances  leaning  back  among 
the  cushions  with  the  fixed  stare  that  meant 
mental  concentration  and  I  doing  my  best,  in 
spite  of  the  constant  jolting  of  our  vehicle,  to 
decipher  such  brief  account  of  the  tragedy  as 
the  newspaper  had  had  time  to  rush  into  type 
for  its  first  edition. 

"  At  half-past  nine  this  morning,"  I  read, 
"  there  was  discovered  on  a  little  tenant-farm 
near  Mountville  one  of  the  most  foul  murders 
that  have  ever  been  recorded  in  the  criminal 
history  of  Lancaster  County.  The  victim  was 
Hans  Jaeger,  a  recent  German  emigrant,  who 
rented  the  farm  from  the  Haefner  estate  six 
weeks  ago;  the  killing  was  done  with  a  common 
carving-knife,  and  the  police  are  looking  for 
Wilhelm  Jaeger,  a  brother  of  the  deceased,  who 


The  Crimson  Thumb  47 

shared  the  farm  with  Hans,  and  who  was  seen 
in  his  company  as  late  as  9.15  A.  M.,  but  who 
is  now  missing. 

"  The  murder  was  discovered  at  the  hour 
above  stated  by  Lawrence  Beitman,  a  collector 
in  the  employ  of  the  Haefner  estate,  who  called 
at  the  farm  in  the  regular  course  of  his  business. 
Receiving  no  reply,  Beitman  pushed  open  the 
door,  which  proved  to  be  unlocked,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  the  kitchen  where,  on  the  floor,  he 
found  the  bloody  body  of  Jaeger,  with  the  carving- 
knife  still  protruding  from  the  wound  in  his 
breast.  Beitman  says  that  the  corpse  was  still 
warm.  He  gave  the  alarm,  and  the  Coroner 
is  now  expected  to  arrive  at  any  moment  to 
take  charge  of  the  case. 

"  County  Detective  Doomble,  who  at  once 
went  to  the  scene  of  the  crime,  says  that  he 
found  the  house  ransacked  from  top  to  bottom, 
but  that  a  large  amount  of  money,  which  was 
kept  loose  in  a  bureau-drawer  in  a  second-floor 
bed-room  occupied  by  the  dead  man,  had  evi 
dently  been  overlooked  by  the  murderer.  The 
detective  adds  that  he  regards  as  very  suspicious 
the  absence  of  Wilhelm  Jaeger,  the  brother,  whom 
Henry  Schlicter,  a  neighbouring  farmer,  saw 
with  Hans,  in  conversation  with  a  couple  of 
strangers.  These  strangers  were  in  a  carriage 


48  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

on  the  Columbia  'pike  about  fifteen  minutes 
before  the  discovery  of  the  crime.  They  were, 
Schlicter  says,  a  young  man  and  a  young  woman, 
who  were  driving  from  the  direction  of  Lancaster 
and  who  inquired  persistently  of  Schlicter  the 
way  to  the  Jaeger  farm.  Doomble  thinks  that, 
if  found,  they  may  be  able  to  throw  some  interest 
ing  light  on  the  affair,  and  may  even  be  proved 
to  be  accessories  to  the  crime. 

"  Not  much  is  known  hereabouts  concerning 
the  Jaeger  brothers.  They  lived  entirely  alone 
and  had  very  little  intercourse  with  their  neigh 
bours." 

;'  The  local  authorities,"  I  remarked,  as  I 
ended  my  reading,  "  will  probably  give  us  a 
warm  welcome,  and  lock  us  up." 

Frances  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

' '  Ours  would  be  a  suspicious  story  —  if  we 
told  it,"  she  admitted,  seriously,  "  but  I  have 
always  acted  upon  the  theory  that  the  only 
useful  truth  was  the  truth  that  sounded  true. 
You  had  better  leave  the  local  authorities  to 
me." 

The  event  proved  that  she  was  quite  right,  for, 
as  we  climbed  from  our  cab  before  the  scene  of 
the  murder,  we  were  confronted  by  Doomble 
himself  —  a  fat,  little  man  with  a  bristling,  black 
moustache  and  a  brave,  blue  eye  —  to  whom 


The  Crimson  Thumb  49 

Frances  straightway  lucidly  explained  her  position. 
She  was,  she  began  by  admitting,  the  woman  in 
the  carriage  referred  to  by  the  newspaper.  She 
had  that  morning  driven  here  because  she  had 
been  told  in  Lancaster  that  the  Jaegers  might 
give  her  board  and  lodging  on  just  such  a  quiet 
farm  as  she  required  for  her  vacation,  but,  not 
liking  the  appearance  of  the  place,  she  had  at 
once  returned  to  the  county-seat.  Seeing, 
however,  that  her  presence  was  connected  with 
the  murder,  she  had  now  returned  and,  if  she 
could  be  of  any  assistance,  would  be  only  too 
happy  —  as  Frances  Baird,  Detective  —  to  place 
herself  under  Mr,  Doomble's  orders. 

The  mention  of  her  name  resolved  our  diffi 
culties.  Doomble,  unlike  the  rural  policeman  of 
tradition,  was  a  keen  officer  and  a  level-headed 
man;  he  knew  her,  by  reputation  of  course,  and, 
far  from  being  either  suspicious  or  jealous,  wel 
comed  heartily  her  proffered  aid.  Under  his 
guidance,  we  passed  the  little  group  of  village 
loafers,  who  were  halted  at  the  humble  doorway, 
and,  while  Doomble  was  engaged  upon  some 
minor  errand,  were  permitted  to  go  alone  into 
the  house  that  shrouded  a  mystery  so  much 
stranger  than  was  dreamed  of  by  any  of  that 
curious  crowd  outside,  and  so  much  deeper  than, 
at  that  time,  even  we  ourselves  suspected. 


50  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

There  were  only  three  rooms  on  the  ground 
floor,  and  but  two  of  these  had  been  used  by  the 
late  inhabitants.  What  had  doubtless  been 
designed  for  a  parlour  was  as  bare  as  the  day 
the  builders  left  it,  but  the  dining-room  behind 
this  was  comfortably  enough  furnished,  in  a 
simple  way,  with  the  table  ready  set  for  the 
noon  meal  and  places  laid  for  two  persons.  From 
this  a  door,  standing  ajar,  opened  into  the  kitchen 
and  through  that  we  stepped  into  the  presence 
of  the  dead.  Some  lesser  business,  as  we  later 
learned,  had  detained  the  Coroner  and  we  now 
came  upon  the  scene  precisely  as  it  had  appeared 
to  the  frightened  rent-collector  a  few  hours  before. 

The  room  was  in  a  considerable  state  of  dis 
order.  The  doors  of  the  cupboards,  which  lined 
two  of  the  walls,  had  been  flung  open  and  much 
of  their  scanty  supply  of  pots,  kettles  and  crockery 
tossed  upon  the  floor.  The  drawer  of  the  kitchen- 
table  had  been  torn  out  and  its  contents  dumped 
upon  the  floor  in  a  heap.  In  two  places  the 
boarding  had  been  ripped  up,  and  the  bricks 
before  the  old-fashioned  range  had  been  similarly 
disturbed.  Amid  all  this,  ominously  stark,  the 
matted  head  just  beneath  the  window  and  the 
booted  feet  pointing  stiffly  ceilingward,  lay  the 
dead  man  —  the  silent  brother  of  our  morning 
interview,  silent  now  for  ever. 


The  Crimson  Thumb  51 

We  should,  perhaps,  have  shown  —  the  pair 
of  us  —  something  more  of  horror  than  we  did  — 
should,  it  may  be,  have  paid  that  tribute  of  awe 
which  convention  expects  of  the  average  man 
and  woman  in  the  presence  of  convention's 
greatest  conventionality,  death.  But  the  hard 
fact  is  that  both  Frances  and  I  were  more  or 
less  accustomed  to  tragedy.  For  several  years 
such  scenes  as  this  had  been  almost  a  part  of 
our  daily  work,  and  so,  although  I  do  not  think 
we  are  either  of  us  uncommonly  callous,  we  are 
both  of  us  uncommonly  practical.  My  comment 
was,  therefore,  not  so  emotional  as  businesslike. 

"So,"  I  said;  "the  quiet  one  was  Hans.  I 
had  been  wondering." 

"  Yes,"  confessed  Frances,  "  so  had  I,  but  I  was 
ashamed  to  own  up  to  you  that  I  had  been  too 
disconcerted  this  morning  to  find  out  from  them 
which  was  which." 

"  We  might  have  guessed.  This  is  a  madman's 
work,  and  I  told  you  Wilhelm  was  mad." 

"  Is  it  a  madman's  work?  I'm  not  so  sure.  Do 
madmen  have  strange  ladies  forewarn  detectives 
and  announce  their  crime  a  day  before  its  com 
mission?  " 

She  was  tiptoeing  gingerly  about  the  room  as 
she  talked,  equally  intent  upon  observing  every 
thing  and  disturbing  nothing. 


52  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"  But  perhaps,"  I  ventured,  as  I  carefully  fol 
lowed  her,  "  perhaps  he  did  write  some  crazy 
letter  to  a  relative,  who  planned  to  have  us  on 
the  ground  ahead  of  time,  without  disclosing 
her  secret  to  us,  and  so  prevent  the  murder." 

Frances  chuckled,  and  I  own  that  her  laughter 
struck  even  my  none  too  sensitive  ears  as  rather 
grim. 

"  That  wild  theory,"  she  said,  "  has  so  many 
holes  in  it  that  I  can't  shoot  at  it  without  my 
bullet's  going  through  one  of  them.  No,  it  was 
brother  Wilhelm,  sane  enough  to  hang  for  it." 

"  How  about  the  rent-man?  "  I  inquired. 

As  I  spoke  she  dived  to  the  floor  and  picked  up 
a  double  handful  of  notes  and  coin. 

"  There's  your  answer,"  she  replied.  "  Besides, 
though  there  was  probably  some  struggle,  most 
of  all  this  tearing-up  seems  to  have  been  done 
after  the  stabbing;  it  was  done  by  someone  that 
knew  Hans  had  something  of  value  concealed 
about  the  place  —  and  the  something  that  the 
assassin  was  after  was  clearly  not  money.  —  In 
fact "  -  and  again  she  pounced  upon  some 
object  on  the  floor  —  "the  murderer  has  left 
his  autograph  behind  him." 

She  was  standing  erect  now,  her  dark  cheeks 
flushed  and  her  brown  eyes  gleaming.  In  her 
hand  she  held  a  rumpled  sheet  of  newspaper  - 


The  Crimson  Thumb  53 

such  a  sheet  as  country-folk  spread  upon  closet- 
shelves  —  and,  clearly  imprinted  on  that  sheet, 
was  the  telltale  impression  of  a  crimson  thumb. 

"  There  you  are!  "  she  almost  shouted  —  "  the 
one  mark  that  can  never  be  forged!  " 

I  bent  toward  it  to  examine  it.  My  friend  was 
right.  The  imprint  was  that  of  a  left  thumb 
and  was  as  clear  and  definite  as  if  it  had  been 
the  careful  artist's  proof  of  some  prized  etching. 

Frances  ran  to  the  side  of  the  dead  man  and, 
in  his  own  blood,  made,  on  the  margin  of  the 
paper,  quick  imprints  of  the  victim's  thumbs: 
there  was  not  the  slightest  resemblance  to  the 
original  stain. 

'  That's  hanging  evidence,"  she  continued,  as 
she  rapidly  labelled  the  various  impressions  with 
her  gold-cased  pencil  and,  folding  the  paper, 
handed  it  into  my  keeping.  "  He  had  no  sooner 
stabbed  the  man  than  he  ran  to  the  cupboard  in 
his  wild  search  for  the  reward  of  his  crime.  The 
first  thing  he  touched  was  this  paper,  which  he 
jerked  from  one  of  the  shelves,  and  on  it  he  left 
that  stain.  —  He  might  more  safely  have  left  us 
his  card!  " 

Realizing  that  Doomble  might  at  any  moment 
come  after  us,  we  had  been  working  quickly,  and 
now,  when  only  five  minutes  had  been  devoted 
to  the  room,  Frances  bent  over  the  dead  man. 


54  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  as  her  deft  fingers  ran  along 
the  victim's  chest;  "the  newspaper  was  right 
about  this.  Here's  the  weapon:  a  common 
carving-knife,  driven  deep  —  he  must  have 
dropped  like  a  log.  It  was  a  left-handed  blow  - 
remember  that,  Sammy  —  for  it  slopes  from  the 
body's  right  to  left,  and  of  course  the  assassin  was 
facing  him,  so  Wilhelm  must  be  a  left-handed 
gentleman,  just  as  that  thumb-mark  indicates.  — 
The  clothing  is  ordinary  enough  —  pockets  empty 
except  for  a  knife,  a  ball  of  twine  and  some  small 
change.  But  here  —  Her  voice  went  suddenly 
calm  and  softer.  "  Lend  me  your  knife,"  she 
concluded. 

The  very  change  in  her  tone  warned  me  that 
the  climax  of  our  investigation  was  at  hand. 
Hastily  I  gave  her  the  horn-handled  weapon  that 
I  always  carried  with  me.  She  gripped  it  quickly, 
ripped  open  the  dead  man's  shirt,  pulled  over 
his  head  something  that  gleamed  in  the  afternoon 
sunlight,  and  then,  before  I  could  stoop  beside 
her,  was  holding  out  to  me  the  object  of  her  quest. 

I  took  it  cautiously  in  my  hands  and  looked  at 
it  stupidly.  It  was  a  broad,  red  riband  of  rusty 
silk,  but  at  the  point  of  the  bight  was  suspended 
a  blue  and  gold  enamelled  flint-stone,  with  con 
ventionalized  flames  spreading  from  it.  On  its 
obverse  was  engraved  the  motto: 


The  Crimson  Thumb  55 

"  Pretium  laborum  non  vile," 

and  below  hung,  suspended  by  its  middle,  the 
figure  of  a  lamb. 

"  It's  —  I  suppose  it's  some  kind  of  a  foreign 
decoration?  "  I  stammered. 

"  It  is  the  jewel,"  said  Prances,  "  of  the  Order 
of  the  Golden  Fleece." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    MAN   WITH   ^HE   SCAR 
"  If  a  man  find  his  enemy,  will  he  let  him  go  well  away  ?  " 

THERE  it  lay,  in  her  pink  palm,  the  index  - 
could  we  but  read  it  —  to  our  whole  mystery. 
About  us  was  the  poverty-stricken  farmhouse 
kitchen,  the  floor  littered  with  sordid  debris, 
the  cupboards  open  and  bare,  and,  close  at  hand, 
the  dead  man,  unwitting  or  uncaring,  with  the 
knife  deep  in  his  breast  and  in  his  staring  eyes 
no  sign  or  token  to  aid  us  toward  his  vengeance. 

I  looked  at  Frances,  I  fear,  somewhat  blankly. 
In  a  general  way,  I  knew,  of  course,  that  the 
Toison  d'Or  was  one  of  the  proudest  orders  in 
Europe,  but  of  more  than  that  I  now  frankly 
confessed  my  ignorance. 

"  Then  it's  time  you  learned,"  my  companion 
dryly  commented.  "  All  I  can  tell  you  now  is 
that  there  are  only  sixty-odd  men  in  the  world 
who  may  lawfully  possess  it,  and  that  I  myself 
have  never  seen  it  worn  by  anybody  that  was 
not  of  royal  blood.  There  are  two  branches  of 
the  order  —  one  in  Spain  and  one  in  Austria, 

66 


The  Man  with  the  Scar  57 

but  this  jewel,  I  am  sure,  is  of  the  Austrian 
brand.  Unless  he  stole  it,  that  will  give  you 
some  idea  of  the  importance,  in  his  own  country, 
of  the  man  who,  over  here,  seems  to  have  seen 
fit  to  call  himself  plain  Hans  Jaeger;  and,  if 
you  could  guess  why  he  carried  it  about  with 
him,  and  why  he  hid  it  from  sight,  you  would 
have  solved  the  riddle.  For  my  own  part,  I'm 
going  to  give  up  guessing  for  a  while.  Instead, 
I'm  going  to  take  a  look  over  Jaeger's  other 
belongings,  with  an  eye  to  Fraulein  Meyer's 
dispatch-box.  Unless  Wilhelm  was  really  mad, 
we  sha'n't  find  it,  but,  in  the  meantime,  you  take 
care  of  this  bauble  and  say  nothing  about  it  to 
any  of  the  police.  I  suspect  that  it  will  be  useful 
in  a  little  journey  I'm  contemplating." 

With  that  she  hurried  me  off  upstairs  and  we 
began  the  search  that  she  had  correctly  prophesied 
would  be  fruitless.  Save  that  which,  apparently, 
had  once  been  occupied  by  Wilhelm,  all  the  rooms 
in  the  house  were  in  just  such  disorder  as  that 
reigning  in  the  kitchen.  In  the  apartment  where 
the  dead  man  had  evidently  slept,  the  bureau's 
contents  were  strewn  recklessly  about ;  the  heavy 
trunk  upturned ;  the  flooring  virtually  demolished, 
and  even  the  mattress  and  pillows  ripped  open. 
But  among  all  this  devastation  we  found  neither 
the  box  that  Gretchen  Meyer  had  described,  nor 


58  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

yet,  thorough  as  we  tried  to  be,  one  scrap  of 
paper  to  complement  the  remarkable  discoveries 
made  below  stairs,  not  one  bit  of  evidence  to 
throw  a  single,  fresh  ray  of  light  upon  the 
identity  of  either  the  dead  man  or  his  slayer. 

It  was  quite  six  o'clock  when  we  abandoned 
the  investigation.  The  Coroner  had  come  and 
gone;  so  had  the  undertaker.  Doomble  had 
twice  interrupted  us  and  Frances  had  twice  lied 
to  him  about  her  opinion  of  the  case.  And  so, 
at  last,  discouraged,  but  not  defeated,  she  faced 
me  in  the  deepening  twilight. 

"  Sammy,"  she  said,  "  there's  nothing  more  to 
be  learned  here,  but  I  think  that  we  have  found 
enough  to  make  it  reasonably  certain  that, 
whatever  else  it  is,  this  isn't  exactly  a  common  or 
garden  variety  of  back-alley  crime.  Unless  I'm 
all  wrong,  the  endeavour  to  run  it  out  is  going  to 
be  long,  but  never  tedious  —  it  is  going  to  be 
delicate  and  dangerous  —  and  I  believe  it  is 
going  to  bring  us  up  against  some  of  the  most 
powerful  forces  in  the  world.  Luckily,  I  happen 
to  have  plenty  of  money  to  spare  just  now,  and 
some  time,  and,  also,  luckily,  you  too  are  in  the 
same  boat.  —  Do  you  want  to  come  along?  " 

I  seized  her  hand. 

"  Of  course  I  do!  "  I  declared. 

"  Don't  be  too  cock-sure.     I  warn  you  that 


The  Man  with  the  Scar  59 

we  shall  probably  run  several  good  chances  of 
being  killed  by  persons  whom  our  ghosts  would 
never  have  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  swing  for 
it.  So,  if  you  really  feel  like  dropping  out,  here's 
your  chance." 

"  Not  much,"  I  answered.  '  You  may  con 
sider  me  enlisted  '  for  three  years  or  during  the 
war.'  " 

"  Very  well,"  said  Frances  quietly,  as  if  this 
ended  the  matter;  "  in  that  case,  we'll  walk  over 
to  the  local  railroad-station." 

"Good.  Are  we  going  to  Philadelphia?"  I 
asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  my  companion;  "but 
I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  we  were  going  to 
Europe." 

And,  indeed,  Europe  was,  as  it  turned  out,  our 
ultimate  destination.  Several  precious  days  we 
lost  in  starting  —  days  and  nights  spent  in 
hunting  out  any  possible  clew  and  following, 
for  some  short  way,  half  a  dozen  false  ones. 
Frances  discovered  that  Doomble  had  been  in 
quiring  at  all  the  stations  along  the  line,  for  a 
passenger  answering  Wilhelm  Jaeger's  description 
—  inquiring  and  finding  nothing.  But  she,  not 
satisfied  with  this,  felt  it  incumbent  upon  her 
to  trace  the  progress  of  every  stranger  whatsoever, 
who  had  left  Mountville,  or  either  of  the  towns 


60  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

immediately  to  the  east  or  west  of  it,  within  such 
time  of  the  murder  as  to  render  him  a  legitimate 
object  of  suspicion,  and  this  she  kept  up  until  I 
began  to  abandon  all  hope.  Now  and  then,  to 
be  sure,  we  were  lured  away  by  some  more  or 
less  promising  will-o'-the-wisp.  Once  it  was  in 
one  direction  and  then  in  another.  But  at  no 
time,  until  the  seventh  day,  did  we  come  upon 
anything  that  gave  us  continued  promise. 

We  were  talking,  I  remember,  precisely  a 
week  after  the  murder,  to  the  ticket-agent  at 
Rhorerstown,  a  man  of  more  than  ordinary 
intelligence,  who,  though  he  did  not  wholly 
guess  our  purpose,  at  least  did  not  seek  to  thwart 
it  by  trying  to  think  on  his  own  account. 

"  This  is  a  wery  small  place,  you  see,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  know  most  of  the  persons  as  goes  by  the 
train,  but  I  remember  there  was  two,  on  that 
there  day  you  speak  about,  as  I  didn't  never 
see  before." 

"At  what  time?"  clicked  Frances,  her  dry 
business-voice  sounding  like  the  cocking  of  a 
revolver. 

"  It  must  have  been  about  half-pas'  ten,  or 
ten  forty-five,  fer  they  bought  tickets  fer  the 
eleven  o'clock." 

"  Just  time  to  get  over  from  Mountville,"  I 
mentally  commented. 


The  Man  with  the  Scar  61 

Frances  went  on : 

"  They  came  together?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  they  come  togezzer." 

"  And  a  pair  of  them,"  I  continued  to  myself, 
"  would  alone  explain  how  so  much  ransacking 
could  have  been  done  in  so  short  a  time." 

"  What  did  they  look  like?  "  persisted  Frances. 

"  Oh,  like  most  city  folk." 

"  Yes  —  yes,  but  were  they  short  or  tall?  " 

"  Well,  the  one  as  bought  the  tickets,  he 
wasn't  what  you'ld  call  noways  short." 

"  Tall,  eh?  " 

"  No,  nor  yet  what  you'ld  call  tall." 

"  Have  a  beard  or  moustache?  " 

"  No." 

"  What  kind  of  hair?  " 

"  Kind  of  brown  and  sort  of  black." 

"And  his  eyes?" 

"  I  didn't  rightly  notice  his  eyes,  but  I  think 
they  were  brown,  though  they  might  'a'  been 
blue." 

I  began  to  laugh,  but  Frances  checked  me  with 
a  frown. 

"  Didn't  you  notice  anything  particular  about 
him?"  she  almost  pleaded;  "anything  that 
makes  you  remember  him?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  I  did  that,  miss." 

"  Well,  and  what  was  it?  " 


62  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

• 

'  Why,  I  thought  he  was  wery  well  dressed  fer 
a  butcher." 

"  For  a  butcher?  —  How  did  you  know  that  he 
was  a  butcher?  " 

"  I  didn't  jest  know  it  yet,  but  when  he  reached 
out  his  hand  fer  the  change,  I  seen  they  was  caked 
blood,  like,  under  the  fingernails,  an'  I  thought 
perhaps  - 

'  Yes,  yes,  of  course  you  did.  It  was  his  left 
hand,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  His  left?  Well,  now,  he  wouldn't  be  likely 
to  use  his  left,  would  he?  " 

"  He  would  if  he  were  left-handed.  —  But 
never  mind.  —  What  sort  of  tickets  did  he 
buy?  " 

"  One  to  New  York  and  one  to  Washington.  — 
He  give  the  Washington  one  to  his  friend." 

"  And  what  sort  of  looking  man  was  his  friend  ?  " 

"  Him  I'ld  know  anywheres.  He  was  a  wery 
little  man,  but  awful  stocky.  He  had  his  hat 
off,  an'  was  wipin'  his  forehead  with  a  silk  hand 
kerchief,  an'  I  noticed  his  hair  (it  was  black)  was 
all  bristly,  like,  an'  right  in  his  forehead  he  had 
a  scar  just  the  shape  of  a  three-quarters  moon." 

This  was,  perhaps,  something,  and  it  was,  at 
any  rate,  all  we  could  get  from  the  ticket-seller. 
We  subjected  him  to  a  full  half-hour  more  of 
cross-examination;  we  harried  him  and  worried 


The  Man  with  the  Scar  63 

him,  but  we  left  him  with  no  more  information 
than  that.  He  had  seen  only  what  he  had  at 
first  described.  And  yet,  doubtful  as  this  clew 
appeared,  and  slight  as  the  description  certainly 
was,  it  proved  to  be  the  thin  thread  which  led 
to  the  end  of  our  quest.  The  way  thither,  as 
Frances  had  foretold  and  as  you  will  see,  was 
both  dangerous  and  difficult,  but,  when  we  at 
last  reached  it,  we  did  so  solely  because  of  what 
the  man  at  Rhorerstown  had  told  us. 

We  boarded,  that  very  day,  the  train  that  the 
strangers  had  taken  the  previous  week,  and  we 
found  that  the  conductor  of  its  single  Pullman 
car  remembered  the  pair  of  whom  we  were  in 
search. 

"  I  run  on  through  to  New  York,"  he  explained, 
"  and  the  one  of  them  went  with  me,  but  the 
other  left  at  Philadelphia  just  after  the  lady 
joined  the  party." 

"  What  lady  was  that?  "  I  demanded. 

But,  even  as  I  spoke,  I  guessed  his  answer : 

"  A  tall,  dignified  young  lady  —  a  young  lady 
in  black.  She  wore  a  veil  when  she  came  aboard, 
but  she  raised  it  after  we  got  under  way  and  I 
noticed  that  she  was  very  beautiful,  with  eyes 
as  black  as  her  clothes  and  lots  of  red  hair." 

So  she  didn't  go  at  seven! 

Frances  slipped  the  man  a  five-dollar  bill. 


64  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"  Anything  more?  "  she  inquired. 

'Yes,"  replied  the  conductor;  "at  Jersey 
City  the  lady  asked  me  whether  it  would  be 
quicker  for  them  to  go  to  Hoboken  from  the 
Jersey  City  side,  or  whether  they  had  better  cross 
to  New  York  —  that's  all  I  remember." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Frances;  "it  is  quite 
enough." 

"  But  is  it?  "  I  wondered,  as  the  conductor  left 
us. 

'  What  more  could  you  ask?  "  said  Frances. 
'  They  were  going  to  Hoboken  —  there  are 
only  two  big  trans-Atlantic  lines  that  have  docks 
there:  the  Hamburg-American  and  the  North 
German  Lloyd.  It  was  a  Monday,  and  as  the 
German  Lloyd  boats  generally  sail  early  Tuesday 
morning,  and,  moreover,  as  your  beautiful  Frau- 
lein  came  here  by  that  line,  all  we  have  to  do  is 
to  ask  a  few  questions  of  the  pier-hands  to  find 
out  whether  two  such  people  as  our  friends 
didn't  arrive  there  a  week  ago  at  the  same  houf 
at  which  we  shall  arrive,  and  whether  they 
didn't  go  aboard  the  boat." 

And  that  was  all  that  we  did  have  to  do.  Two 
employees  knew  nothing,  but  the  third  knew  just 
about  what  we  wanted.  The  two  had  arrived,  hav 
ing  engaged  adjoining  staterooms  on  the  Kaiser 
Wilhelm  II  by  telegraph  that  morning  from 


The  Man  with  the  Scar  65 

Philadelphia.  What  was  more,  upon  alighting  at 
the  pier,  they  had  gone  at  once  to  their  cabins 
and  had  remained  there  until  the  boat  set  sail 
at  five-thirty  the  next  morning. 

"  The  man  had  no  baggage  at  all  except  a 
hand-bag,"  our  informant  concluded,  "but  the 
lady's  trunks  came  later  and  I  remember  they 
still  had  the  Wilhelm  II  labels  on  'em,  from 
Bremen." 

We  went  to  the  office. 

"  She  won't  have  changed  her  name,"  said 
Frances,  "  because  it  might  make  talk,  since  she 
was  returning  by  the  same  boat  that  she  came 
on." 

And  again  Frances  was  right,  for  the  company's 
books  showed  us  that  Fraulein  Gretchen  Meyer 
had  occupied  Stateroom  No.  103;  that  No.  104 
had  been  occupied  by  Wolfgang  Johrnblatz, 
and  that  both  these  persons  had  embarked  for 
Cherbourg,  at  which  port  the  boat  had  touched 
at  noon  of  the  day  before  we  made  our  inquiries. 

"Wolfgang  Johrnblatz  —  Wilhelm  Jaeger," 
muttered  Frances  as  we  came  out  into  the  street. 
"  Too  late  to  cable,"  she  went  on,  and  I  admit 
that,  at  the  thought  of  the  Fraulein,  my  heart 
was  glad  to  hear  it.  "  But  I  dare  say,"  the 
detective  continued,  "  that  it  wouldn't  have  done 
to  cable  anyhow,  because  this  is  no  case  for 


66  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

open  methods.  —  Come  back  for  a  minute ;  I 
am  going  to  engage  two  staterooms  on  the 
Kronprinz,  which  sails  from  here  to-morrow." 

That  is  the  way  that  things  happened  when 
you  were  with  Frances  Baird,  detective,  and  I 
knew  better  than  to  ask  questions.  Unless  she 
chanced  to  be  in  one  of  her  soliloquizing  moods, 
it  was  useless  to  attempt  inquiry,  and  when  she 
was  convinced  that  a  problem  could  be  solved 
by  so  simple  a  process  as  an  immediate  trans- 
Atlantic  voyage,  she  would  start  upon  that 
voyage  without  further  warning. 

So  it  was,  at  any  rate,  in  the  present  instance. 
There  were  a  few  hours  of  fevered  shopping;  a 
silent  dinner  at  Mouquin's;  a  cab-ride  to  the 
Hoboken  ferry,  and  then  I  tumbled  into  my 
berth,  tired  out  from  my  week's  hard  work  and 
yet  too  excited  and  too  puzzled  for  speedy  sleep. 

All  night  long  I  tossed  and  turned,  beating  my 
brains,  until  they  were  sore,  against  the  riddle 
that  confronted  us.  If  the  Fraulein  were  a 
party  to  the  murder,  why  had  she  ever  come  to 
us?  If  she  were  not  a  party  to  it,  why  had  she 
met  Wilhelm  Jaeger  and  gone  abroad  with  him? 
Why,  in  any  event,  had  she  given  us  word  of  the 
crime  on  the  night  before  it  was  committed? 
Where  was  the  dispatch-box,  and  what  had  been 
in  it?  Who  was  the  third  man  with  the  ticket 


The  Man  with  the  Scar  67 

to  Washington?  And  to  what  strange  identity, 
hidden  under  ground  in  the  potter's  field  at 
Mountville,  did  I  hold  a  key  in  the  shape  of  that 
jewel  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  which  was  now 
resting  secure  beneath  my  pillow?  I  would 
torture  my  wits  until  I  would  doze  away  from 
sheer  exhaustion,  but,  even  then,  to  sleep  was 
only  to  fall  dreaming  of  dead  men  and  kings,  of 
mad  murderers  and  beautiful  red-headed  women 
in  black,  with  dark,  seductive  eyes  and  lips  like 
a  wound  —  was  only  to  follow  the  mystery  around 
its  dizzy,  vicious  circle,  plunging  about  like  a 
rat  in  a  bucket,  and  to  start  into  wakefulness 
whenever  a  step  sounded  outside  my  stateroom, 
now  in  a  thrill  at  the  memory  of  the  Fraulein's 
face,  and  now  in  a  cold  sweat  at  the  vision  of 
Wilhelm  Jaeger's  little  brown  eyes  boring  into 
mine,  his  clawlike  hands  extended,  his  bloody 
thumb  about  to  hook  itself  upon  my  throat. 

Twice  I  got  up,  and,  stepping  into  the  passage, 
looked  at  the  transom  to  Frances's  state-room, 
but,  both  times,  the  glass  was  dark  and  the 
detective  evidently  quietly  asleep.  Then,  at 
last,  toward  four  in  the  morning,  I  myself  passed 
completely  into  slumber,  and  did  not  awake 
until  the  key-bugle  sounded  its  reveille. 

Half  .an  hour  later,  pleased  to  find  that  we  were 
already  out  of  sight  of  land,  I  was  taking  a 


68  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

precarious  bit  of  exercise  along  the  promenade 
deck,  preparatory  to  breakfast.  It  was  still 
somewhat  early;  the  sea  was  gray  and  troubled 
and  the  wind  high,  so  that  I  was  not  surprised 
to  find  that  the  sole  companion  of  my  stroll  was 
a  little,  but  thick-set,  broad-shouldered  man, 
who  tramped,  undisturbed,  ahead  of  me.  It  did 
not  even  startle  me  when,  as  he  turned  under  the 
bridge,  a  sudden  puff  of  wind  blew  his  steamer- 
cap  directly  into  my  extended  hand. 

But  what  did  amaze  me  —  what  renewed  the 
mazed  terrors  of  the  night  and  sent  a  chill  of  fear 
down  my  spine  —  was  the  fact  that,  as  he  wheeled 
about,  with  a  smile  and  a  word  of  thanks,  to 
recover  his  fugitive  headgear,  I  noticed  a  bristle 
of  erect,  black  hair  upon  his  bullet-head  and,  just 
between  the  cold  eyes,  a  scar  the  shape  of  a  three- 
quarters  moon. 


CHAPTER  VII 

BOLFRAS    CZIBULKA 

"  And  he  said,  Wherefore  doth  my  lord  thus  pursue 
after  his  servant?  for  what  have  I  done?  or  what  evil  is 
in  mine  hand  ?  " 

EVERY  man,  I  suppose,  has,  on  occasion,  idly 
speculated  as  to  what  his  sensations  would  be  if 
he  awakened  from  a  nightmare  only  to  find  that 
the  clawed  and  winged  beast  that,  in  his  dreams, 
had  just  been  gnawing  out  his  heart  —  or  clutch 
ing  tighter  and  tighter  his  helpless  throat  until 
the  life-link  between  head  and  body  had  snapped 
—  was  now,  in  the  waking  world  of  fact,  descend 
ing  upon  him  from  the  far  corner  of  the  bed-room. 
I,  at  any  rate,  have  so  amused  myself  —  and 
now  I  had  the  not-entirely-pleasant  presentation 
of  that  problem  in  the  smiling  countenance  of  the 
man  with  the  scar. 

First  of  all,  of  course,  stupefying  amazement 
began  by  rooting  me,  agape,  to  the  tossing  deck, 
and  ended  by  urging  me  to  run  away.  Next, 
however,  the  fever  of  the  chase  took  command  of 


70  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

my  brain  and  ordered  me  to  attack  this  apparition, 
pinion  him  and  summon  assistance  for  the  arrest 
of  a  murderer.  But  finally,  though  I  cannot  claim 
a  flood  tide  of  common  caution,  the  habit  of 
convention,  which,  in  the  long  run,  rules  us  all, 
instinctively  asserted  itself,  and,  before  the  other 
emotions  had  left  my  consciousness  clear  — 
before,  in  fact,  I  could  have  held  myself  tense 
for  more  than  one  hesitating  second,  although 
to  my  wondering  brain  it  seemed  the  motionless 
silence  of  minutes,  —  I  observed  my  own  hand 
returning  the  cap  and  heard  my  own  voice 
accompanying  this  action  with  a  familiar  in 
anity. 

"  It  is  a  very  rough  day,"  I  stammered,  my 
eyes  still  glued  on  the  livid  scar. 

Amazed  as  I  was  at  my  own  course,  I  was  even 
more  surprised  at  the  stranger's.  If  an  escaping 
criminal  could  ever  be  given  a  hint  of  danger, 
surely  this  man  must  have  read  warning  in  my 
almost  staggering  face,  but,  far  from  any  uneasi 
ness,  far  from  ending  our  conversation  with  the 
single  sufficient  word,  he  at  once  fell  into  step 
beside  me,  apparently  glad  of  companionship 
and  certainly  in  full  possession  of  his  nerves. 

Then,  for  a  time,  of  course,  I  actually  doubted 
whether  this  stocky  individual,  in  spite  of  his 
bristling,  black  hair  and  three-quarters  moon  of  a 


Bolfras  Czibulka  71 

scar,  could  be  the  man  we  sought,  but,  not 
having  gone  quite  mad,  I  resolved,  at  any  rate, 
to  make  the  most  of  his  want  of  guile,  and  so, 
in  seeking  to  match  his  frankness,  at  last  con 
firmed  my  original  suspicions. 

"  This  is,  perhaps,  your  first  trip?  "  he  was 
asking  me  in  almost  perfect  English,  as  we  came 
to  a  stop  at  the  rail  that  shut  us  from  the  second 
cabin. 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  replied.  "  I  am  a  newspaper  man 
and  had  to  cross  twice  before  in  the  course  of 
business,  although  then  I  went  only  to  Eng 
land." 

"  So?  "  he  responded,  his  broad  smile  showing 
two  rows  of  firm,  flashing  teeth.  "  A  journalist? 
It  has  been  my  profession  rather  to  shun  the 
reporters." 

I  had  imagined  as  much,  but  I  scarcely  expected 
him  to  acknowledge  it. 

"  What  profession  is  that?  "  I  asked,  trying  to 
laugh  with  some  degree  of  naturalness. 

"  Diplomacy,"  was  his  surprising  answer. 
"  Oh,"  he  continued,  spreading  out  his  strong 
hands,  palms  outward,  "  only  in  a  ve-ary  small 
way,  sar." 

We  turned  to  go  forward,  the  wind  proving 
rather  too  strong  at  the  rail,  and  I  was  glad  to 
get  the  momentary  pause  for  a  stroke  of  quick 


72  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

thought.  Then  I  decided  that  his  statement 
assumed  some  further  inquiry. 

"  I  used  to  know  Washington,"  said  I.  "It 
was  there,  I  suppose,  that  you  were  stationed?  " 

"  Yas.  I  haf  been  attache  there  at  the  Austrian 
embassy." 

I  think  at  that  I  almost  stopped  short.  It  was, 
to  be  sure,  possible,  that  the  world  might  contain 
two  men,  or  even  a  score,  that  answered  the 
description  furnished  by  the  Rhorerstown  ticket- 
agent,  so  far,  indeed,  as  that  curious  scar,  but, 
when  I  remembered  the  Austrian  decoration  that 
we  had  found  in  the  death-house  at  Mountville, 
it  seemed  well  nigh  impossible  for  an  Austrian 
of  that  ilk,  fresh  from  America  and,  by  his  own 
admission,  in  touch  with  the  world  of  secret 
politics  and  intrigues,  to  be  any  other  than  the 
man  we  wanted. 

I  let  my  gaze  seek  the  tossing  horizon  while  I 
sought,  almost  vainly,  to  dig  from  the  labyrinth 
of  my  brain  some  biographical  facts  that  I  might 
give  him  in  order  to  invite  imitation. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  I  ultimately  murmured.  "  Well, 
I  can't  say  that  I  cared  a  great  deal  for  Washing 
ton,  for  I  began  my  work  there  and  so  had  the 
hardest  time  of  my  life  in  that  city." 

Again  my  companion  smiled,  his  teeth  flash 
ing. 


Bolfras  Czibulka  73 

"  I  confess,"  he  said,  "  that  I  can  share  your 
dislike,  Mr.  —  " 

He  raised  his  eyebrows  questioningly  and  I 
supplied : 

"  Burton  —  Samuel  Burton." 

"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Burton.  My  own  name  is 
Bolfras  Czibulka.  —  As  I  was  saying,  I  also  care 
not  much  for  Washington,  greatly  as  I  like  what 
little  else  of  your  charming  country  I  have  seen. 
But  then,  I  too  was  the  beginner  there.  I  go 
now  to  a  new  post  —  to  Paris,  where  I  have  just 
been  appointed  the  secretary  private  to  the 
Baron  de  Hetzendorf,  our  ambassador.  Perhaps, 
now,  you  also  are  going  to  a  promotion:  perhaps 
you  are  to  be  London  correspondent  for  your 
newspaper? " 

I  did  some  quick  thinking. 

"  No,"  I  replied;   "  my  cousin,  Miss  Baird  —  " 

"Miss  Baird?" 

There  was  no  token  of  recognition  in  the 
repetition  of  the  name,  which,  since  it  would  be 
on  the  passenger-list,  I  had  seen  no  harm  in 
giving  to  him. 

"  Yes,"  I  continued,  "  my  cousin,  Miss  Baird. 
We  too  are  going  to  Paris,  but  it  is  no  promotion 
—  only  a  pleasure-trip." 

"  Ah,  for  that,  Mr.  Burton,  you  could  go  to  no 
better  city  in  the  world,  although  as  a  residence 


74  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

you  would  not  like  it  much  more  than  Washington 
and  not  so  well  as  your  own  New  York." 

I  don't  know  why  it  should  be,  but  it  is  always 
flattering  to  a  reporter  to  be  thought  the  member 
of  a  New  York  staff.  Still,  I  have  always  rebelled 
against  the  convention,  and  so  I  now  corrected 
my  new  acquaintance. 

"  But  New  York,"  I  said  truthfully,  "  is  not 
my  home.  I  am  connected  with  the  Philadelphia 
Globe-Express." 

As  I  spoke  these  words,  we  had  reached  the 
forward  entrance  to  the  saloon,  and  the  Austrian 

—  or  Czeck,  as  I  concluded  he  must  be  —  now 
flung  open  the  door  to  it. 

Something  in  his  movement  caught  my  instant 
attention,  but  for  an  appreciable  moment  it 
could  not  satisfy  my  clamouring  mind.  Then  of 
a  sudden,  realization  came  to  me:  the  hand  with 
which  he  had  opened  that  door,  and  the  hand  which 
he  had  previously  extended  for  the  return  of  his 
runaway  cap,  had  been  the  left. 

"  So?  "  he  was  calmly  saying,  while  my  eyes 
remained  rivetted  on  the  hand  that  had  opened 
the  door.  "  I  regret  that  I  know  not  your  city. 

—  But  I  think  that  I  hear  the  breakfast-call  aft 
and  the  wind  sharpens  one's  appetite.     I  trust, 
sar,   that  I  shall  have  the  honour  of  a  larger 
acquaintance  with  you." 


Bolfras  Czibulka  75 

Whereupon  he  left  me  —  and  he  was  still 
smiling. 

Somehow,  I  didn't  like  his  smile:  there  was 
too  much  of  it. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SPILLED    MILK 

"  Lest  the  avenger  of  the  blood  pursue  the  slayer,  while 
his  heart  is  hot,  and  overtake  him,  because  the  way  is  long, 
and  slay  him." 

WITH  Czibulka  out  of  earshot,  there  was  just 
one  thing  for  me  to  do,  and  I  did  it  without 
delay.  The  man  with  the  scar  could  not  have 
seated  himself  at  table  below  us  before  I  had 
Frances  walking  the  deck  that  he  and  I  had  so 
recently  left.  It  took  me  about  half  a  minute 
to  tell  her  all  that  I  had  learned,  and  then  I 
leaned  upon  the  rail  and  awaited  her  surprise 
and  commendation. 

The  surprise,  however,  was  destined  to  be  all 
my  own,  and  the  commendation  was  nowhere 
in  evidence. 

"  You're  sure  about  the  scar?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Positive." 

"  And  the  man  is  short  and  stocky?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Bristling  black  hair?  " 

"  Just  so." 

76 


Spilled  Milk  77 


"  Hum.  —  We  should  have  known  that  it  was 
quite  on  the  cards  he'ld  be  coming  along  on  about 
this  boat." 

Whereupon  she  put  me  through  the  Frances- 
Baird  form  of  catechism  on  the  conversation 
between  the  Austrian  and  myself.  Then,  satisfied 
that  she  knew  all  that  had  passed  between  us, 
she  bent  beside  me  and  looked  down  in  silence 
at  the  churning  waves. 

"Well,"  I  at  last  demanded,  "what  do  you 
think  of  it?" 

"  I  haven't  begun  to  think  yet,"  she  answered 
without  raising  her  eyes.  "  At  the  present 
moment  the  pressing  question  seems  to  me  to 
be  not  so  much  what  I  think  as  what  he 
thinks." 

"  But  that's  just  the  point:  he  doesn't  think 
anything!  " 

At  that  she  delivered  her  blow. 

"You  poor  innocent!"  she  cried,  suddenly 
facing  me.  "  On  what  your  reputation  as  a 
reporter  rests,  I,  for  one,  cannot  imagine!  Here 
you  go,  telling  this  fellow  your  whole  history: 
telling  him  that  you're  from  Philadelphia,  which 
is  within  a  few  hours  of  Mount ville,  and  where 
he  changed  cars  for  Washington,  didn't  he,  in 
spite  of  his  saying  that  he  had  never  been  in  your 
city?  —  telling  him  you're  a  newspaper  man  with 


78  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

your  cousin,  Miss  Baird  —  I'm  surprised  that 
you  did  not,  with  more  exactness,  add:  Miss 
Frances  Baird,  detective,  —  giving  up  your  mind 
as  freely  as  if  it  were  located  in  a  sea-sick  stomach 
—  and  then,  you  repeat  your  entire  one-sided 
conversation  to  me  and  expect  me  to  believe 
that  the  man  doesn't  suspect  anything !  —  Poof ! 
Let's  go  down  to  breakfast." 

She  made  straight  for  the  designated  goal,  and 
I  could  do  nothing  but  follow,  protesting  as  I 
might  against  an  accusation  which,  the  more  I 
thought  it  over,  seemed  to  have  a  far  too-sub 
stantial  basis.  Not  until  she  had  eaten  an  exceed 
ingly  good  meal  would  she  talk  any  more  about 
the  affair,  but  I  noticed  that  she  did  not  fail  to 
look  hard  at  the  Austrian,  who  sat  some  tables 
away  from  us,  never  once  glancing  in  our  direction, 
and  I  was  at  least  gratified  when,  upon  our 
return  to  the  upper  promenade  deck,  she  granted 
that  he  must  be  the  man  we  wanted. 

"  I've  felt  all  along,"  she  continued,  "  that 
the  ransacking  of  that  farmhouse  was  so  thorough 
that  it  couldn't  have  been  done  by  one  man  in 
the  short  time  that  must  have  elapsed  between 
the  occurrence  of  the  murder  and  its  discovery, 
and  I  am  now  sure  that  our  friend  Czibulka  must 
have  been  at  work  searching  the  upper  part  of 
the  house  at  the  very  moment  when  we  were 


Spilled  Milk  79 


passing  the  time  of  day  with  the  brothers  Jaeger 
on  the  turnpike." 

"  But  you  really  think,"  I  humbly  ventured, 
"  that  my  lack  of  caution  has  injured  mat 
ters!  " 

"  I  don't  know.  It  certainly  has  not  helped 
them.  Of  course,  if  this  man  Czibulka  has  been 
supplied  by  his  confederates  with  any  word  of 
Fraulein  Meyer's  visit  to  me,  he  must  be  on  the 
lookout,  now  that  you  have  bared  your  heart 
to  him.  But,  after  all,  that's  spilled  milk,  and 
I  never  worry  over  what  can't  be  picked  up 
again.  The  only  thing  for  us  to  do  is  to  keep  our 
eyes  as  wide  open  as  his  can  possibly  be,  and  to 
find  out  whatever  is  possible." 

What  we  could  find  out  proved,  however,  to  be 
little  enough.  Not  that  Czibulka  became  hard 
of  access ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  he  who  sought 
a  presentation  to  Frances,  and,  when  he  was  not 
playing  picquet  with  me  in  the  Vienna  cafe",  he 
appeared  to  be  spending  all  his  time  promenading 
with  the  pretty  detective,  bending  over  the  music- 
rack  while  she  sat  at  the  piano  in  the  main 
saloon,  or  superseding  the  deck-stewards  at  their 
duties  of  tucking  her  into  her  chair  and  bringing 
her  the  mid-morning  broth  to  the  clamour  of  the 
brass  band.  But  never  once  did  he  overdo  any 
thing  that  he  attempted,  and  had  not  Frances 


80  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

proved  to  me  after  my  first  encounter  with  him 
that  he  must  be  quite  as  much  the  diplomat  as 
the  genial  gentleman,  I  fear  I  should  have  re 
nounced  my  original  suspicions  of  him. 

The  detective  and  I  were,  on  the  fifth  day  out, 
sitting  side  by  side  in  steamer  chairs,  lazily 
watching  a  quiet,  pond-like  sea.  Czibulka  had 
left  us  a  short  time  before,  after  winning  from 
me  at  cards. 

"  Does  he  play  well?  "  inquired  Frances  medi 
tatively. 

"Well  enough  to  prove  himself  my  superior: 
that  is  all." 

"  One  must  admit  that  he  is  a  charming 
travelling  companion,"  said  Frances. 

"Yes,"  I  agreed;  "his  cosmopolitan  train 
ing  has  furnished  him,  in  spite  of  his  unpre- 
possessive  appearance,  with  a  delightful  man 
ner." 

"  He  doesn't  bore  us  much  by  talking  of  him 
self,"  added  the  detective,  reminding  me  of  my 
own  powers  of  giving  up  information.  "  No," 
she  continued,  "  although  I  have  offered  him 
every  opportunity.  He  seems  to  prefer  bringing 
me  bouillons  and  arranging  my  rugs  to  talking 
on  any  but  the  most  general  topics.  I  have  tried 
—  quite  skillfully,  I  thought  —  to  gain  his  confi 
dence,  but  I  receive  only  his  gleaming  smile  and 


Spilled  Milk  81 


the  conversation  continues  to  run  in  channels  not 
connected  with  his  own  history  and  his  own 
activities." 

Indeed,  as  the  days  of  our  voyage  had  sped 
toward  a  close,  I  had  become  more  and  more 
puzzled,  and,  as  we  drew  nearer  land,  I  was  only 
further  at  sea.  If  he  had  countered  our  leads  by 
questions  about  our  own  interests,  I  could  have 
solved  him,  but,  instead,  he  shamed  our  curiosity 
about  himself  by  showing  no  curiosity  regarding 
us  beyond  what  ways  he  could  be  of  service  or 
amusement  in  our  immediate  needs.  He  had,  in 
short,  completely  and  easily  worsted  an  experi 
enced  newspaper  man  and  a  famous  criminal  in 
vestigator,  and  it  was  quite  our  last  night  upon 
the  water  before  he  even  endeavoured  to  make 
use  of  the  advantage  he  had  won. 

That,  of  course,  was  the  evening  of  the  Captain's 
dinner,  and  most  of  the  passengers  sat  long  at 
the  table.  ,•  We  three,  however,  went  on  deck, 
and  then,  as  I  wanted  to  buy  the  high  field  in 
the  pool  for  the  run  ending  at  Cherbourg,  I  left 
Frances  and  Czibulka  under  the  bridge  and 
hurried  aft  to  the  smoking-room.  I  had  been 
there  about  half  an  hour  and  had  just  purchased 
my  chance  when  there  came  a  light  tap  at  the 
port  by  which  I  was  standing  and,  looking  up,  I 
saw  the  detective  outside. 


82  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

I  joined  her  immediately.  She  was  stifling 
with  suppressed  laughter. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "he  has  played  his  trump 
at  last." 

"What  was  it?"  I  asked. 

"  The  right  bower  —  but,  Sammy,  I  still  have 
the  joker  up  my  sleeve." 

"I'm  not  a  dream -book,"  I  insisted.  "  What 
is  the  game,  anyhow?  " 

"  It  was  a  kind  of  euchre,  I  suppose;  but  if  it 
had  been  bezique,  I  should  have  said  that  Czibulka 
wants  to  declare  a  common  marriage." 

'  You  mean  to  say  that  he  has  been  making 
love  to  you?  " 

"  It  appears  that  he  thinks  he's  been  doing  that 
all  the  way  over:  just  now  he's  been  proposing." 

:<  The  whelp!  —  In  an  effort  to  get  the  truth 
out  of  you?  " 

:<  That,  I'm  afraid,  Sammy,  is  the  unflattering 
fact." 

"  And  what  did  you  do?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  if  he 
had  been  sudden  and  American,  but  Continental 
proposals  are  long  affairs,  so  I  had  plenty  of 
time  to  think  and,  when  he'd  finished,  I  told  him 
sadly  that,  at  the  time  of  sailing,  I  hadn't  got 
my  divorce  and  that  the  wireless  wasn't  work- 


Spilled  Milk  83 


Her  levity,  I  think,  angered  me  even  more  than 
Czibulka's  impudence. 

"  Look  here,"  I  declared,  "  I  don't  know  what 
you  propose  doing  —  you  haven't  been  over- 
confidential  with  me  for  the  last  day  or  so  — 
but  I'll  tell  you  what  I  intend  to  do:  I  intend  to 
prefer  a  charge  of  murder  against  this  man  as 
soon  as  we  get  ashore." 

The  threat  at  least  served  to  sober  her. 

"  No,  you  won't,"  she  assured  me.  "  We  have 
absolutely  nothing  worth  while  toward  sub 
stantiating  such  a  charge,  and,  if  we  made  it, 
the  news  of  it  —  published  or  not  —  would  be 
sure  to  reach  the  accomplices  and  only  make  our 
chase  all  the  harder.  This  thing's  difficult  enough 
as  it  is,  thank  you." 

'  Then  what  do  you  propose?  " 

"  I  propose  to  follow  Czibulka." 

"  But  where's  the  use  of  that,  Frances?  "  asked 
I,  a  little  exasperated  with  her.  "  We  know  that 
he  is  going  to  the  embassy." 

Frances  whistled  softly. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  she  demanded,  "  that 
you  really  believe  that  cock-and-bull  yarn  about 
a  diplomatic  career  and  the  private  secretaryship 
to  the  Paris  ambassador  from  Austria?  " 

Why  is  it  that  the  most  plausible  tale  begins 
to  sound  improbable  the  moment  somebody 


84  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

applies  to  it  the  epithet  "cock-and-bull"?  It 
had  never  occurred  to  me  to  doubt  that  portion 
of  Czibulka's  story  until  I  now  heard  Frances 
thus  describe  it,  but  no  sooner  was  the  description 
accomplished  than  I  was  ready  to  admit  that  I 
might  have  been  gulled  again. 

"  Of  course  you've  been,"  she  assured  me  with 
a  smile.  "  It  is  all  rot.  What  you  and  I  must  do 
is  to  keep  after  our  little  friend.  If  we  just  follow 
him  quietly  enough  and  closely  enough,  he'll 
lead  us  direct  to  Fraulein  Meyer  and  Wilhelm 
Jaeger." 

Well,  no  one  could  have  censured  us  for  lack 
of  devotion.  From  that  moment  until  the  heart 
of  Paris  itself  had  been  reached,  one  or  other  of 
us  never  lost  sight  of  Czibulka.  When  we  touched 
Plymouth  in  the  dead  of  night,  I  stood  guard 
at  the  gang-way  and  scrutinized  every  figure 
that  came  aboard  or  went  ashore,  but  neither 
did  the  Austrian  attempt  to  give  us  the  slip, 
nor  did  any  suspicious  passengers  join  the  ship's 
company.  Later,  as,  in  the  clear  dawn,  we 
scudded  by  the  red  English  coast,  I  still  patrolled 
the  decks  and  still  watched  in  vain.  Even  when 
we  passed  among  the  little  fortifications  of  the 
French  harbour  and  the  many-chimneyed  Cher 
bourg  itself  lay  plain  before  us,  our  suspect  was 
was  still  invisible,  and  it  was  only  when  the  fat 


Spilled  Milk  85 


tender  had  snorted  alongside  our  liner,  to  the 
blare  of  the  band  and  the  shouts  of  the  heavily 
laden  porters,  that  he  at  last  appeared  and,  still 
smiling,  preceded  us  down  the  plank  and,  finally, 
ashore. 

I  did  notice  that  our  Austrian  had  small 
trouble  with  the  customs,  and  that  he  was  one 
of  the  first  to  climb  into  the  waiting  Paris  express, 
but,  as  we  managed  to  keep  close  behind  him 
wherever  he  went  and  to  get  into  the  same 
coach,  this  troubled  me  not  at  all,  nor  was  I 
annoyed  to  find  that,  during  all  the  ride  across 
Normandy,  until  early  evening  found  us  jerking 
through  the  purlieus  of  the  French  capital,  he 
remained  sunk  in  a  reserved  silence  that  was  new 
to  us. 

But,  once  we  had  pulled  into  the  roaring  ter 
minal,  the  man's  whole  manner  changed.  His 
only  hand-luggage  was  a  small  satchel,  and  as 
the  octroi  had  passed  this  without  question,  he 
was  out  of  the  coach  before  the  wheels  had  well 
ceased  revolving.  There  was  just  another  flash 
of  the  teeth,  a  quick  farewell,  and  he  had  almost 
vanished  into  the  surging  crowd. 

Immediately  Frances  was  upon  the  platform, 
I  following.  We  darted  hither  and  thither  among 
the  screaming  cockers  and  porters.  Twice  we 
lost  sight  of  Czibulka  and  twice  found  him  again, 


86  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

as  if  by  a  miracle,  until  at  last  we  saw  him  scramble 
into  a  taximetre  the  driver  of  which  at  once  began 
to  belabour  his  weary  steed. 

The  detective,  whose  French  was  better  than 
mine,  was  on  the  instant  directing  another 
cocker  in  our  behalf. 

"  Follow  that  cab,"  she  commanded,  "  no 
matter  where  it  goes.  Keep  us  in  full  sight  of  it 
all  the  time,  and  I'll  double  your  fare!  " 

We  tumbled  in  just  as  Czibulka's  vehicle  rolled 
out  of  the  courtyard  and,  a  moment  later,  at  a 
rattling  pace,  were  trailing  our  quarry  through 
the  brilliant  streets. 

"  Now,"  murmured  Frances,  with  something 
like  a  sigh  of  relief;  "  we  ought  to  be  near  the 
end  of  the  chase." 

"Where,"  I  asked,  "do  you  suppose  that  it 
will  lead  us?  " 

"  Most  likely  to  the  Quartier  or  else  up  Mont- 
martre  way,"  she  responded.  "Certainly  not 
into  the  better  part  of  town." 

And  yet,  even  as  she  spoke,  we  had  turned 
into  what  I  later  learned  was  the  Rue  de  Varenne, 
and  there,  just  ahead  of  us,  was  Czibulka's  cab 
drawn  up  at  an  imposing  doorway  and  Czibulka 
himself  entering  the  big  house  to  which  that 
doorway  belonged. 

Frances  leaped  to  the  curb. 


Spilled  Milk  87 


"  Cocker,"  she  asked  of  our  driver,  "  what  place 
is  that?  " 

The  cabbie  took  but  a  single  glance. 

"  Madame,"  he  answered,  as  he  pocketed  his 
double  fare,  "it  is  the  Austrian  embassy." 


CHAPTER  IX 

BEHIND    THE    CURTAIN 

"  Enter  thou  into  thy  chambers,  and  shut  thy  doors 
about  thee:  hide  thyself  as  it  were  for  a  little  moment, 
until  the  indignation  be  overpast." 

THERE  are  times  when  I  sincerely  admire  the 
manner  in  which  Frances  Baird,  through  all  her 
strange  career,  has  preserved  those  traits  which 
are  essentially  feminine.  But  that  evening,  as 
we  stood  under  the  lamp-post  on  the  Rue  de 
Varenne,  the  two  cabs  driving  carelessly  down 
the  street  and  the  door  of  the  imperial  Austrian 
embassy  closing  upon  the  man  whose  connection 
with  diplomacy  my  friend  had  so  heartily  ridi 
culed  —  that  evening  was  not  one  of  them.  The 
average  male  detective  would  at  least  have  given 
me  some  word  of  apology  for  having  doubted  a 
story  in  which  I  had  put  my  thus  justified  faith 
and  for  having  jeered  at  the  faith  I  had  so  ex 
hibited.  But  the  woman  detective  remained  a 
woman.  I  turned  to  Frances  with  a  triumphant 
"  I-told-you-so  "  smile  upon  my  face,  and  the 
sole  comment  of  Frances  was: 

88 


Behind  the  Curtain  89 

"  I  had  begun  to  suspect  this,  after  all." 

I  laughed. 

"  How  long  ago?  "  I  wondered. 

"  Never  mind  that,"  she  snapped.  "  This  is 
hardly  a  time  for  argument  or  even  explanation, 
Sammy.  If  I'm  not  mistaken,  we  are  playing 
the  biggest  game  that  I  have  ever  had  a  part  in. 
Come  along!  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,  but  where?  " 

"  Into  the  embassy." 

That  was  like  her  too.  Whenever  she  effected 
a  failure,  she  immediately  sought  to  obliterate 
its  impression  by  doing  something  suddenly 
daring. 

"  We  sha'n't  get  an  audience;  it's  preposterous, 
Frances,"  I  weakly  protested.  "  The  thing's 
impossible." 

"  I  never  say  any  thing's  impossible  until  I 
have  tried  it  —  and  then  I  try  it  again,"  said 
Frances.  "  Come  along." 

I  went,  meekly  enough  after  her  rebuke,  and, 
in  a  moment,  found  myself  standing  before  a 
door  that  was  held  scarcely  open  by  a  servant 
out  of  livery  —  a  queer,  thin,  wiry  runt  of  a  man 
with  a  terrible  cast  in  one  eye  and  some  defect 
of  the  facial  muscles  that  drew  one  corner  of  his 
mouth  far  down  toward  his  sharp,  beardless  chin. 

"  Monsieur?  "  he  muttered  interrogatively. 


90  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

Frances  took  the  initiative. 
'  Your  pardon,"  she  smiled  sweetly.     "  You 
were  going  out?  " 

The  Cerebus  frowned  —  and  his  frown  was  no 
more  cheerful  than  his  mythological  ancestor's. 

"  I  have  responded  to  madame's  summons," 
he  grumbled  in  pretty  passable  French. 

My  companion  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and 
no  words  could  more  clearly  have  indicated  her 
doubt  that  this  man  was  the  servant  he  pretended 
to  be.  However,  the  shrug  expressed  also  Fran 
ces's  will  to  take  him  on  his  own  terms  and  with 
this  her  next  speech  accorded : 

"  To  be  sure,"  she  said.  "  To  be  sure.  Thank 
you.  We  are  travellers  just  arrived  and  so 
have  not  had  the  time  to  procure  a  formal  intro 
duction,  but  we  are  come  upon  important  business 
with  Monsieur  the  Ambassador." 

It  was  now  Cross-Eye's  turn  to  shrug,  but  with 
him  the  action  was  less  conciliatory. 

"  I  regret,  madame,"  he  growled.  "  It  is  quite 
impossible.", 

He  started  to  close  the  door,  but  I  was  too 
quick  for  him.  My  reporter's  habit  of  forcing 
an  interview,  if  necessary,  was  upon  me,  and  the 
swinging  planks  got  only  so  far  as  my  heavy 
travelling-boot;  and  when  the  doors  were  again 
flung  open  in  order  that  the  guarding  Austrian 


Behind  the  Curtain  91 

might  discover  the  impediment,  Frances  coolly 
slipped  into  the  dimly-lighted  vestibule,  closely 
followed  by  me. 

Cross-Eye's  face  went  black  with  Oriental  rage, 
but  Frances,  ignoring  his  expression,  addressed 
him  in  a  tone  of  honey : 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  that  it  is  impossible?  " 

Her  calm  lack  of  regard  for  the  fellow's  rudeness 
was  enough  to  take  the  wind  out  of  even  his 
sails. 

"I  —  I  —  it  is  very  certain,  madame,"  he 
stammered. 

She  put  out  her  gloved  hand  and  I  saw  her  place 
into  his  great  palm  something  that  looked  like  a 
fifty-franc  note. 

"  Still  sure?  "  she  almost  whispered. 

Cross-Eye  at  once  found  his  concealed  manners. 

"If  madame  would  consent  to  see  not  the 
ambassador,  but  a  — 

"  But  I  will  not  consent." 

"  Then  —  then  —  "  and  his  hand  closed  tightly 
over  the  note ;  "if  madame  will  but  make  memo 
randum  of  her  mission  on  her  card,"  he  murmured 
obsequiously,  "  I  shall  with  much  pleasure  present 
it  to  Monsieur  the  Baron." 

Frances  was  never  a  woman  for  hesitation. 
She  drew  from  her  purse  one  of  her  own  cards, 
hastily  scribbled  upon  it  and  then  held  it  up  for 


92  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

me  to  see.     Leaning  over  her  shoulder,   I  saw 
written  there,  above  her  name: 

"  I  talked  with  the  man  '  Hans  Jaeger  '  fifteen 
minutes  before  his  death;  a  few  minutes  later 
I  took,  secretly,  from  the  Jaeger  house,  the 
jewel  of  the  Golden  Fleece." 

"  Then  take  this  at  once,"  she  commanded. 

Cross-Eye  bowed  —  very  low. 

"At  once,  madame,"  he  repeated;  "but  if 
Monsieur  should  still  refuse  - 

"  He  won't,"  assured  Frances,  in  her  tone  of 
finality,  and  the  man,  at  her  words  turning  his 
back  upon  us,  seemed  at  once  to  vanish  through 
the  shadowed  wall. 

We  waited,  by  tacit  consent,  in  absolute  silence. 
Frances,  I  suppose,  feared  that  whatever  she  might 
say  would  be  overheard,  and  I,  for  my  part,  was 
quite  too  amazed  by  the  audacity  of  the  message 
on  that  card  to  give  thought  to  anything  save 
unspoken  wonder  concerning  our  next  move. 

But  our  patience  was  not  to  be  tried  severely. 
In  fact  Cross-Eye  was  gone  but  a  very  short  time, 
and  when  he  returned,  it  was  with  a  new  alacrity. 
There  was  a  flood  of  profound  apologies  upon  his 
lips;  there  were  a  dozen  reverences  in  his  supple 
little  back.  Monsieur  the  Ambassador  would 
give  us  immediately  five  minutes.  Would  we 
be  so  good  as  to  follow?  Would  we  be  careful 


Behind  the  Curtain  93 

to  avoid  the  single  step?  And,  finally,  would 
we  enter? 

We  would  enter  —  and  we  did. 

The  opening  door  disclosed  a  small,  sparsely 
furnished  room  and,  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  it  was  but  little  better-lighted  than  the 
vestibule  that  we  had  just  left,  I  saw  at  a  glance 
that  W7e  were  within  the  ambassadorial  work 
room,  an  office  devoted  entirely  to  business 
affairs.  On  the  low  book-shelves,  which  ran 
about  the  four  walls,  were  nothing  but  those 
solemn  and  forbidding  volumes  which,  the  world 
over,  one  may  safely  gamble  are  government- 
reports.  Above  these,  here  and  there,  hung  a 
few  portraits,  and,  at  the  far  end  of  the  room, 
over  a  small  safe  of  ancient  pattern,  was  a  large 
oil  painting  of  the  present  Austrian  Emperor. 
The  sole  illumination  came  from  a  large,  green- 
shaded  lamp,  which  was  suspended  above  a  big 
roll-top  desk  that  stood  just  at  right  angles  to 
a  pair  of  drawn  curtains  apparently  hiding  a 
deep  window  that  looked  upon  the  street.  From 
this  desk  there  arose,  as  we  entered,  the  represen 
tative  of  Franz-Josef  at  the  French  capital. 

The  Baron  Ferdinand-Salvator  Klepsch-Kloth 
de  Hetzendorf  is  a  tall  man  —  so  tall  that,  were  he 
not  proportionately  broad  of  shoulder  and  wide  of 
girth,  he  would  seem  a  veritable  giant.  His  face, 


94  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

moreover,  is  the  model  of  diplomatic  dignity: 
the  wealth  of  carefully-dressed  hair  about  the 
fine  temples  is  silver,  and  silver  is  the  huge  mous 
tache  that  almost  hides  his  firm,  straight  mouth; 
and  the  bushy  eyebrows  from  beneath  which  his 
cold,  blue  eyes  cast  glances  as  swift  and  as  certain 
as  the  bullet  from  a  master-marksman's  rifle. 
I  confess  that,  as  I  then  first  saw  him,  I  felt  we 
were  about  to  deal  with  a  mind  well  capable  of 
our  best  efforts  —  nor  did  his  opening  words  to 
us  serve  in  any  wise  to  remove  this  impression. 

"  Mademoiselle  Baird,"  he  said,  allowing  his 
eyes  first  to  rest  upon  her  card  and  then  upon  my 
companion;  "  I  am  honoured  greatly  by  your 
visit  this  evening,  but  I  trust  you  will  pardon  a 
very  busy  man  if  he  must  ask  you  without  delay 
to  inform  him  exactly  as  to  what  the  honour  is 
due." 

He  had  spoken  in  perfect  English;  he  had 
bowed  graciously  over  Frances's  extended  hand; 
he  had  nodded  to  me  and  had  waved  us  to  chairs 
within  a  few  feet  of  him ;  but  his  voice  had  been 
like  the  click  of  steel  and,  as  he  now  sat  down  at 
the  roll-top  desk,  his  elbow  almost  touching  the 
dark  curtains  at  the  window,  he  looked  at  us 
with  a  flash  of  those  blue  eyes,  which  plainly 
said  that,  having  forced  the  war  into  our  own 
territory,  he  meant  to  keep  it  there. 


Behind  the  Curtain  95 

But  diplomats  were  not  so  new  a  story  to 
Frances  as  to  frighten  her. 

"  I  came,  monsieur,"  said  she,  "  because  of  my 
connection  with  the  matter  of  which  I  have  made 
a  memorandum  on  my  card." 

Again  the  Baron  scrutinized  the  card. 

"  But,"  he  commented,  "  it  is  precisely  an 
explanation  of  that  memorandum  that  I  am 
requesting." 

"  Do  you  mean  me  to  understand,  monsieur, 
that  you  have  admitted  us  without  compre 
hending  the  message  that  I  sent?  " 

"  My  dear  Mademoiselle  Baird,  I  must  confess 
to  the  fault  of  curiosity.  Of  all  the  admirable 
weaknesses  of  your  charming  sex,  this  is  the 
only  one  that  I  have  ever  permitted  myself  to 
emulate." 

'  Then  you  wish  to  tell  me  that  you  have  not 
heard  of  the  man  Hans  Jaeger?  " 

:'  The  name  is  scarcely  uncommon,  mademoi 
selle." 

"  Nor  of  his  murder  in  America?  " 

"  Mademoiselle  must  know  that  I  have  not 
been  in  America  these  twenty  years." 

There  was  a  pause  —  Frances  smiling  sweetly 
at  the  Baron  and  the  Baron  trying  hard  to  smile 
sweetly  at  Frances,  but  succeeding  rather  in 
smiling  diplomatically. 


96  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

It  was  then  that  I  lost  patience.  I  do  not  like 
being  ignored  more  than  do  most  other  people,  and 
I  was  just  now  tired  and  hungry  and  extremely 
disgusted. 

"Monsieur,"  said  I  —  and  at  that  the  Baron 
turned  upon  me  with  a  quickness  that  seemed  to 
show  that  he  had  indeed  been  forgetting  my 
presence  -  "  monsieur,  we  are  wasting  your  time 
and  our  own.  Miss  Baird  is  not  a  diplomatist; 
she  is  just  a  plain  American  detective.  With  her 
I  have  come  here  to  run  down  a  murderer  — 
and,  if  you  have  not  heard  the  story  of  that  man's 
crime,  I  think  it  is  high  time  that  you  should  be 
told  of  it." 

Whereupon,  and  before  either  of  my  hearers 
could  interrupt  me,  I  took  up  the  narrative  of  the 
Mountville  mystery  and  brought  it  to  the  moment 
of  our  discovery  of  the  Toison  d'Or. 

"  Now,  monsieur,"  I  concluded,  "  we  know  from 
these  facts  that  the  victim  was  a  country-man  of 
yours;  that  he  was  a  man  of  eminence  in  his 
native  land.  I  assure  you  that  we  have  just  as 
strong  reasons  to  believe  that  his  murderer  fled 
to  this  city  and  that  he  is  known  to  certain  persons 
—  probably  unworthy  servants  —  in  your  employ. 
We  know  beyond  a  doubt  that  this  is  true  of  at 
least  one  of  his  accomplices  and  we  mean,  in  plain 
terms,  to  make  an  arrest  unless  you  can  satisfy 


Behind  the  Curtain  97 

us  that  none  should  be  made,  or  unless  you  can 
answer  the  question:  Where  is  the  man  that  passed 
as  Wilhelm  Jaeger  ?  " 

Frances  had  sat  by  me  in  amazed  silence  during 
this  oration  of  mine ;  the  Baron,  on  the  other  hand, 
had  begun  by  listening  with  an  attentive,  though 
somewhat  perplexed,  wrinkle  between  his  bushy 
eyebrows,  but  had  ended  soon  by  relapsing  into 
an  expression  of  difficultly  concealed  boredom. 

"  Young  man,"  he  said  at  last,  "  you  do,  indeed, 
amaze  me.  I  am  sure  that  it  is  not  necessary  for 
me  to  repeat  that  I  had  not  before  heard  of  this 
curious  crime,  but,  now  that  I  have  heard  of  it,  I 
beg  to  commend  both  you  and  your  charming  colla- 
borateur  for  your  zealous  efforts  on  behalf  of  ven 
geance  for  a  deed  done  to  one  whom  you  supposed 
to  have  been  my  countryman.  Nevertheless, 
monsieur,  I  must  point  out  to  you  that,  in  coming 
to  me,  you  are  taking  what  you  Americans  would 
call  the  longest  way  home." 

Something  in  that  phrase  seemed  to  catch 
Frances's  ear. 

'  You  mean  -   "  she  began. 

"  I  mean,"  continued  the  Baron,  his  tone 
politely  grave,  "  that  your  proper  course  would 
have  been  to  act  in  conjunction  with  the  regularly- 
constituted  police  in  your  own  country,  and  that 
—  since  the  presence  of  the  Toison  d'Or  on  the 


98  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

body  of  a  farmer  pointed  to  a  theft  committed 
in  Austria  —  you  should  have  called  in  the  aid 
of  our  embassy  at  Washington  —  not  Paris  - 
which,  of  course,  would  have  been  glad  to  assist 
you  —  providing  that  you  could  have  proved 
your  story  by  the  production  of  the  jewel." 

There  was  a  nasty  twang  to  those  last  words, 
which  annoyed  me  even  more  than  the  tenor  of 
all  that  had  preceded  them. 

"  Does  monsieur  try  to  imply,"  I  demanded, 
"  that  our  narrative  lacks  the  convincing 
quality?  " 

The  Baron's  gray  eyebrows  shot  upward. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "  I  make  no  doubt  that 
you  did  find  upon  this  body  some  sort  of  ornament 
that  had  never  before  come  under  your  observa 
tion.  But  how  many  Americans  would  know  the 
insignia  of  the  Golden  Fleece  from  those,  for 
instance,  of  the  Bath?  Or,  if  the  jewel  in  question 
answered  such  printed  descriptions  as  you  may 
have  become  more  or  less  familiar  with,  how  are 
you  to  tell  that  it  is  not,  after  all,  a  mere  counter 
feit?  " 

In  a  moment  more  I  should  have  produced  that 
jewel  to  convince  him.  As  it  was,  my  hand  went 
flying  instinctively  to  my  breast-pocket  when 
Frances's  fingers  encountered  it  and  calmly  drew 
it  down. 


Behind  the  Curtain  99 

"  There  is  much  in  your  point  of  view, 
monsieur,"  her  quiet  voice  was  murmuring  — 
"  a  very  great  deal  indeed.  I  regret  that  we  cannot 
obtain  your  expert  opinion." 

"  Ah,  then  you  have  not  the  jewel  with  you?  " 

"  I  thought  it  best  to  leave  it  in  a  safe-deposit 
box  in  New  York." 

The  Baron  stroked  his  silver  moustache:  I 
was  not  sure,  but  I  fancied  that  the  long  white 
fingers  engaged  in  that  occupation  were  less 
steady  than  they  should  have  been,  and,  reading 
disappointment  in  this  evidence  of  nervousness, 
I  began  mentally  to  congratulate  Frances  for  the 
quick  wit  that  had  saved  me  from  falling  into  the 
Ambassador's  trap. 

"  Yes,"  he  was  saying,  "it  is  a  pity,  a  very 
great  pity.  -  -  You  say,  sir,  that  you  found  this 
decoration  about  the  dead  man's  neck?  " 

I  had  not  said  so,  but  I  was  about  to  admit  as 
much  when  Frances  again  lied  glibly: 

"  No,  not  about  his  neck,  monsieur;  not  even, 
in  reality,  on  the  body.  In  fact,  not  to  be  too 
precise,  we  found  it  in  a  secret  hiding-place  in 
the  farm-house  —  a  place  evidently  overlooked 
by  the  searching  murderers." 

This  was  all  very  well,  but  I  was  once  more 
tiring  of  the  Ambassador's  Fabian  tactics. 

"  After  all,  monsieur,"  I  said  with  what  finality 


100  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

I  could  master,  "  these  details  matter  little.  You 
are  avoiding  the  issue.  I  have  made  you  my 
proposition:  do  you  accept  it  or  do  you  refuse 
it?" 

In  spite  of  my  foreknowledge  of  my  uncertain 
premises,  I  looked  at  him  commandingly,  trying 
to  force  him  into  a  direct  yes  or  no;  but  the 
Baron  met  my  bull-dog  gaze  with  a  cold,  blue 
eye. 

"  You  still  fancy,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am  really 
able  to  tell  you  the  whereabouts  of  the  man  you 
seek?  " 

"  Monsieur,"  I  answered,  "  will  you  or  will 
you  not  tell  us  the  whereabouts  of  Wilhelm 
Jaeger?  " 

"And  if  I  will  not?" 

'  Then  we  shall  be  forced  to  demand  of  the 
French  government  the  arrest  to  which  I  quite 
some  time  ago  referred." 

De  Hetzendorf  never  let  his  eyes  waver  from 
mine. 

"  I  asked  that  question,"  he  clicked,  "  because 
I  found  it  impossible  to  conceive  that  two  such 
clever  persons  as  you  and  mademoiselle  should 
not  appreciate  the  position  in  which  you  have 
placed  yourselves.  You  admit  that  you  entered 
that  farm-house  without  authorization,  and  that 
you  have  acted  without  proper  authorization  ever 


Behind  the  Curtain  101 

since.  You  confess  yourselves  thieves,  and 
mademoiselle  has  written  her  confession  here  in 
her  own  hand  upon  her  own  card.  Monsieur  — 
mademoiselle  "  —  and  the  Baron  slowly  rose  from 
his  chair  until  his  six-feet-six  towered  above  us  — 
"  I  warn  you  that  you  are  treading  on  delicate 
ground ;  I  assure  you  that  what  you  saw  was  no 
murder,  but  lawful  execution,  and,  finally,  I 
tell  you  as  my  last  word  and  in  all  frankness,  that, 
unless  you  leave  this  house  —  unless  you  leave 
France  —  without  more  speech  of  this  affair,  I 
shall  end  the  whole  matter  by  having  you  both 
taken  into  custody  upon  a  charge  of  theft." 

At  that,  as  you  may  well  imagine,  we  were  all 
on  our  feet. 

"  Do  you  mean  —  "I  spluttered. 

"  Exactly  what  I  say,"  announced  the  Baron, 
his  cold  eyes  harder  than  ever. 

"  You  may  arrest  us  and  welcome,  monsieur," 
cooed  the  dove-like  voice  of  my  companion ;  "  but, 
as  you  know,  there  is  no  surer  way  of  bringing 
the  whole  story  before  the  public." 

De  Hetzendorf  smiled  grimly. 

"  Mademoiselle  Baird,"  he  said,  "  I  beg  to 
remind  you  that  Europe  is  not  your  America, 
and  the  Parisian  press  does  not  chronicle  every 
minor  arrest  in  the  capital." 

But  now  at  last  I  was  in  a  familiar  field. 


102  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"Perhaps  not,  monsieur,"  I  almost  shouted; 
"  but  I  happen  to  be  an  American  newspaper 
reporter.  Do  you  think  that  we  came  here  without 
my  telling  my  paper  why?  Let  me  tell  you  that 
the  moment  we  disappear,  it  will  be  looking  for 
us.  Let  me  tell  you  also  that  this  paper  will 
print  or  suppress  the  Jaeger  story  at  my  command ; 
that  it  will  surely  print  it  if  any  harm  should  come 
to  Miss  Baird  or  to  me ;  and  that  —  though  I 
am  a  reasonable  and  conscientious  man  and  as 
such  open  to  conviction  —  though,  in  short,  I 
can  conceive  of  reasons  why  this  piece  of  news 
might  do  more  harm  if  published  than  suppressed 
- 1  will,  nevertheless,  even  should  you  withdraw 
your  threats,  print  this  story  unless  you  can 
satisfactorily  explain  your  reasons  for  wanting  it 
kept  quiet!  " 

Well,  he  didn't  like  that,  and  I  could  not  blame 
him.  It  was,  of  course,  but  a  sheer  bluff  that  I 
had  made,  but  he  didn't  know  it,  and  on  the  face 
of  it  you  would  certainly  say  that  I  had  him.  He 
himself  thought  so,  at  any  rate,  for,  after  a  moment 
of  hard  thinking,  as  we  all  three  stood  there  in 
the  dim  lamp-light,  he  took  up  a  line  of  attack 
that  I  have  never  known  to  be  followed  save  as 
a  desperate  hope. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said,  very  gravely,  "  I  see 
that  you  are  not  convinced.  I  can  only  assure 


Behind  the  Curtain  103 

you  yet  again  that  I  know  no  more  than  you  of 
the  whereabouts  of  the  man  whom  you  call  Wilhelm 
Jaeger.  But  I  can  also  give  you  my  word  of 
honour  that,  if  the  highest  international  interests 
and  the  cause  of  the  peace  of  Europe  will  serve 
to  induce  you  to  abandon  this  wild  scheme,  I 
shall  personally  see  that  you  are  remunerated  to 
any  figure  that,  within  reason  and  even  somewhat 
beyond  it,  you  may  name." 

I  should  have  laughed  at  this  —  I  am  somewhat 
hardened  to  that  sort  of  thing  —  but  Frances 
suddenly  stepped  between  us.  I  had  finished 
my  part  for  the  moment  and  the  offer  of  money 
was  her  cue  to  appear  somewhat  angrily  upon 
the  stage. 

"  In  other  words,  monsieur,"  she  said,  her  cheeks 
flushing  and  her  speech  coming  rapidly,  "  you 
desire  to  bribe  us!  It  is  a  defence  that  none  but 
a  trapped  coward  ever  employs  —  and  it  ends  our 
negotiations." 

I  suppose  that  it  isn't  often  a  great  diplomat 
loses  his  temper,  but  then  it  isn't  often  that  a 
great  diplomat  and  member  of  one  of  the  oldest 
and  proudest  families  of  all  Europe  —  to  his  face, 
at  least  —  is  called  a  coward  and  a  criminal.  At 
all  events,  de  Hetzendorf  seemed  .immediately  to 
see  red. 

"  You  may  go!  "  he  thundered.    "  You  may  go 


104  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

at  once!  I  have  borne  enough  of  your  insolence. 
Neither  I  nor  mine  have  any  knowledge  of  this 
matter:  tell  it  how  and  where  you  please!  Pub 
lish  it  in  all  your  American  newspapers  if  it  so 
pleases  you  to  do.  But  the  Austrian  ambassador 
to  Paris  knows  nothing  of  it !  " 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Frances,  who,  on  the  rare 
occasions  when  she  gave  way  to  anger,  always 
regained  her  self-control  as  soon  as  she  had  made 
her  enemy  lose  his;  "we  shall  not  detain  you 
longer.  But  in  parting,  let  me  add  one  word: 
though  I  do  not  for  a  moment  doubt  your  assur 
ance  of  ignorance  regarding  the  Jaeger  case,  there 
is  at  least  a  close  acquaintance  of  yours  who  can 
not  truthfully  say  so  much  himself." 

Perhaps  the  threat  in  her  tone  really  frightened 
him,  or  perhaps  the  Baron  had  spoken  truth  when 
he  confessed  to  a  feminine  curiosity.  In  either 
event,  his  rage  began  to  give  place  to  another 
emotion. 

''  To  whom,"  he  stiffly  demanded,  "  do  you 
refer?  " 

Frances  took  one  swift  step  to  the  right. 

"  I  mean,"  she  answered,  "  the  man  at  your 
elbow:  the  man  in  front  of  your  window  and 
behind  those  curtains!  " 

A  loud  crash  of  glass  punctuated  her  declara 
tion.  With  a  deft  toss  of  her  arm,  the  detective 


Behind  the  Curtain  105 

drew  aside  the  draperies  from  the  window  at 
the  Baron's  left,  and  there,  just  in  the  act  of 
leaping  into  the  street,  crouched  our  scared  and 
now  bleeding  friend,  the  amiable  Bolfras  Czibulka. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE    STOLEN    BLUEPRINTS 

"Should  he  reason  with  unprofitable  talk?  or  with 
speeches  wherewith  he  can  do  no  good?  " 

I  HAVE  often  wondered  what  it  was  that  wiped 
the  next  few  minutes  completely  from  the  tablets 
of  my  memory.  It  wasn't  only  the  unexpected 
ness  of  the  event,  for  I  could  have  anticipated 
nothing  less  than  I  anticipated  the  wild  flight 
that  I  was  soon  to  make  through  Montmartre, 
and  yet  every  incident  of  the  latter  occurrence 
is  still  clear  and  fresh  in  my  recollection.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  could  no  more  have  been  the 
rapidity  of  the  whole  denouement,  because  its 
action  was  scarcely  more  rapid  than  that  slaughter 
in  which  I  was  so  speedily  to  play  a  part,  and  yet 
there  is  no  smallest  detail  of  the  latter  tragedy 
that  has  escaped  me. 

It  is,  I  suppose,  a  problem  for  the  ever-investi 
gating  psychologist.  All  that  I  can  say  is  that  I 
still  have  a  vague  vision  of  Frances,  through  the 
flying  glass,  dragging  back  Czibulka  from  his  wild 
effort  at  retreat,  while  I  covered  him  with  my 

106 


The  Stolen  Blueprints  107 

revolver  and  while  the  Baron  de  Hetzendorf  flung 
up  his  hands  in  a  last  gesture  of  despair,  and, 
sinking  into  his  chair  again,  no  longer  master  of 
himself  and  us,  motioned  us  all  to  seats  before 
him. 

Somehow  or  other  we  found  our  way  to  the 
indicated  chairs  and  sat  down,  Frances  trying 
calmly  to  fan  herself  with  the  wisp  of  linen  that 
she  called  her  handkerchief;  I  in  my  former 
place  with  my  revolver  ready  in  my  open  palm, 
and  black-cropped,  bristling  Czibulka  between  us, 
smiling  no  more  now,  but  mopping,  ever  and  anon, 
the  blood  that  trickled  from  an  ugly  cut  at  the 
point  of  his  pugnacious  chin. 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  Ambassador  that  broke 
the  silence. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  began,  addressing  his  com 
patriot  —  and  speaking,  I  thought,  in  a  tone  even 
less  conciliatory  than  that  which  he  had  latterly 
employed  towards  us — "you  will  agree  with 
me  that  our  American  friends  have  been  too 
clever  to  let  our  little  plan  succeed.  They  have 
quite  outwitted  us  "  —  he  bowed  first  to  Frances 
and  then  to  me  — "  and  I  congratulate  them 
accordingly.  In  the  circumstances,  then,  there 
is  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  to  throw  ourselves 
upon  their  mercy.  —  Mademoiselle  Baird,  mon 
sieur  —  ?  " 


108  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"  Burton,"  I  supplied. 

"Monsieur  Burton,"  he  continued;  "I  am 
about  to  place  the  safety  of  my  country  in  your 
hands.  May  I  feel  assured  in  return,  of  that 
good  will  and  secrecy  of  which  the  generous 
American  nature  should  be,  per  se,  a  guaran 
tee?  " 

I  looked  toward  Frances  —  for  it  was,  after  all, 
her  game  rather  than  mine  —  and,  in  so  doing, 
saw  Czibulka's  eyes  nearly  leaping  from  their 
sockets.  But  Frances,  though  she  too  must  have 
noted  these  tokens  of  amazement  on  the  part 
of  our  late  camarade  de  vaisseau,  was  nodding  a 
ready  assent. 

"  On  the  part  of  both  Mr.  Burton  and  myself," 
she  said,  "  I  promise  that  we  shall  keep  the  truth 
as  secret  as  becomes  our  respective  duties." 

This,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  a  mere  dodging  of  the 
issue,  but,  oddly  enough,  the  Baron  appeared 
satisfied. 

"  Very  well,"  he  responded.  "  You  will  be 
obliged,  then,  to  bear  with  me  while  I  begin  by 
going  into  a  dull  matter  of  political  history  and 
end  by  narrating  a  little  court  gossip." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  evidently  at  his 
ease  in  facing  the  inevitable,  closed  his  eyes 
reflectively  and  placed  together  the  tips  of  his 
long,  white  fingers. 


The  Stolen  Blueprints  109 

"  The  internal  dissensions  of  my  unhappy 
country,"  he  began,  "  are,  of  course,  so  much  a 
matter  of  common  knowledge  that  I  need  not, 
to  persons  of  your  intelligence,  narrate  them  in 
detail.  There  are  two  sorts  of  nations  the  govern 
ment  of  which  is  mere  child's  play:  the  first  is 
such  a  nation  as  France,  where  all  the  people  are 
of  one  blood,  one  language  and  one  tradition,  and 
the  second  is  such  a  nation  as  your  own  where  the 
body  of  citizens  have  either  come  together  with  a 
common  purpose,  or  else  are  made  up  of  so  many 
various  strains  that  no  single  strain  can  hopefully 
struggle  for  the  entire  control.  But  my  own 
country  is  in  neither  category.  It  is,  speaking 
broadly,  composed  of  but  two  races,  each  distinct, 
each  jealous  of  the  other.  Its  very  name,  Austro- 
Hungary,  sounds  forth  the  theme  of  its  sorrow, 
and  the  miserable  war  between  the  Austrians  and 
the  Hungarians  within  its  limits  is  as  bitter  as 
it  is  unceasing. 

"  For  a  long  time  now,  this  warfare,  though 
confined  within  the  realm  of  purely  political 
activity,  has  needed  only  the  appearance  of 
another  Kossuth  to  precipitate  open  revolution. 
Lately,  moreover,  the  differences  between  the  two 
peoples  have  centred  upon  the  question  of  the 
division  between  them  of  the  expenses  of  the 
government,  and  the  bitterness  thus  centred  has, 


110  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

you  may  be  sure,  been  tenderly  and  assiduously 
nursed  among  the  Hungarians  by  our  arch-enemy 
in  St.  Petersburg. 

"  Russia  is,  and  has  always  been,  greedy  to 
obtain  from  us  the  province  of  Galicia,  which 
blocks  the  progress  of  the  Muscovite  advance 
upon  the  Balkans  in  its  way  toward  Turkey  and 
the  Aegean.  In  the  pursuit  of  its  ancient  policy, 
and  by  means  of  the  greatest  spy-system  that  the 
world  has  ever  seen,  Russia,  therefore,  has  not 
long  scrupled  at  any  means  or  any  expense  for 
the  incitement  of  discord  in  my  country.  In  the 
present  crisis  it  has  even,  I  regret  to  say,  pur 
chased  —  bribed  -  '  bought  up,'  or  '  cornered,'  as 
you  Americans  so  picturesquely  put  it  —  persons 
of  considerable  standing  in  Vienna,  some  of  whom 
are  known  to  us  as  traitors,  but  by  far  the  most 
dangerous  of  whom  have  been  able  to  work 
incalculable  evils  because  they  were  so  long 
regarded  as  high  above  suspicion. 

"  Into  this  latter  class  fall  the  tribe  with  which 
we  have  now  to  deal.  One  of  this  triumvirate 
of  Judases  was  no  less  a  person  than  the  Baron 
Radetsky,  a  nephew  of  the  Austrian  field-marshal 
famous  during  the  occupation  of  Italy,  and,  at 
the  time  of  his  treasonable  activity,  attached,  in 
a  highly  confidential  position,  to  our  Department 
of  War.  Another  was  a  certain  Colonel  Lichten- 


The  Stolen  Blueprints  111 

stein,  of  the  General  Staff,  undeniably  an  able 
officer.  And  the  third  was  the  Countess  Routkov- 
sky,  probably  the  most  beautiful  woman  of  the 
court  circle  and  high  in  the  confidence  of  our 
beloved  emperor  himself.  With  Radetsky,  we 
have  learned,  the  opening  was  gained  because  of 
a  slight  which  he  imagined  had  been  put  upon 
him  in  some  matter  of  promotion.  Lichtenstein, 
on  the  contrary,  has  always  been  at  heart,  through 
maternal  influences,  an  ardent  supporter  of  the 
cause  of  Hungarian  freedom,  and  the  Countess 
Stephanie  Routkovsky  was  approached  when 
facing  ruin  precipitated  by  high  play.  —  Monsieur 
Czibulka,  who  originally  secured  the  major  por 
tion  of  this  information,  will  bear  me  out." 

We  looked  again  at  Czibulka,  but  he  was  still 
too  busy  mopping  the  cut  in  his  chin  to  contribute 
much  beyond  a  nod,  and  the  Ambassador  con 
tinued: 

"  The  trio  that  I  have  named  —  Radetsky, 
Lichtenstein  and  the  Countess  Routkovsky  —  soon 
became  the  active  heads  of  the  Russian  secret 
service  bureau  of  information  in  Vienna.  At  last, 
however,  —  this  was  nine  months  ago  —  my 
government,  thanks  to  Monsieur  Czibulka,  dis 
covered  the  nature  of  their  activities  and  had  them 
watched.  Evidence  was  plenty  and  the  net  was 
spread  when,  just  as  the  arrests  were  about  to  be 


112  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

made,  some  other  traitor  warned  the  three  chief 
criminals:  the  Countess  and  the  Colonel  fled  to 
Germany  and  were  traced  as  far  as  Bremen,  where 
all  clews  vanished,  and  Radetsky  made  good  his 
escape  to  America. 

"  Although  we  should  naturally  have  preferred 
to  punish  criminals  of  so  vile  a  nature,  we  might 
not  so  much  have  regretted  their  flight,  and  might 
have  solaced  ourselves  with  the  thought  that  they 
were  at  least  removed  from  the  place  where  they 
could  do  us  most  harm,  were  it  not  for  the  dis 
covery  that  the  thoughtful  Radetsky  had  pro 
vided  himself  against  penury  by  taking  along 
with  him  from  the  War  Department  a  large  series 
of  blue-prints  descriptive  of  some  of  our  most 
important  fortifications.  When,  therefore,  our 
spies  in  Berlin  reported  that  an  Austrian  in  the 
United  States  was  negotiating  with  Germany  for 
the  sale  of  plans  of  some  of  these  fortifications 
along  the  northern  frontier  of  his  native  country, 
we  at  once  concluded  that  Radetsky  was  again 
becoming  perniciously  active,  and  when,  set  to 
work,  our  American  agents  confirmed  these  sus 
picions,  we  decided  that  mercy  had  been  suffi 
ciently  strained  and  that  the  traitor  must  go  no 
longer  unpunished. 

"  To  shorten  a  long  story,  my  friends,  one  of 
these  agents  was  commissioned  to  gain  the  con- 


The  Stolen  Blueprints  113 

fidence  of  Radetsky  in  the  United  States,  by 
representing  himself  as  a  German  spy,  and  this  he 
did  just  as  the  fugitive,  reduced  almost  to  dire 
poverty,  had  rented  the  farm  near  the  little  town 
where  your  own  adventures  began.  Our  spy, 
becoming  the  fast  friend  of  the  renegade,  offered 
to  join  him  in  this  agricultural  enterprise  until 
the  Berlin  government  should  be  heard  from,  and 
that  offer  was  finally  accepted.  Accordingly, 
the  pair  of  them  —  spy  and  runaway  —  lived  on 
the  American  farm,  where  they  posed  as  the 
brothers  Jaeger,  while  all  the  time  our  spy  was 
trying  on  the  one  hand  to  discover  and  steal  from 
Radetsky  the  plans  that  he  had  somewhere 
hidden,  and  while  Radetsky,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  trying  to  drive  with  the  supposed  German 
agent  as  hard  a  bargain  as  possible. 

"  This  continued  for  nearly  six  weeks,  during 
which  time,  of  course,  the  German  government 
was  never  heard  from,  while  our  spy  met  with 
no  success  in  his  search  for  the  plans.  At  the  end 
of  that  period,  Radetsky  began  to  grow  sus 
picious. 

"  Our  agent,  noticing  this,  communicated  at 
last  with  his  ambassador  in  Washington,  where 
upon  —  there  is  no  need  nor  use  in  winking  at 
facts  —  the  order  went  forth  that  the  safety  of  a 
nation  was  above  the  life  of  a  traitor  even  if  that 


114  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

traitor  was  in  a  foreign  country  and  beyond  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  home  government;  the  traitor 
must,  therefore,  be  killed  on  a  certain  day  and  his 
house  thereafter  ransacked  at  leisure  until  the 
plans  be  found. 

"  Monsieur  Czibulka  was  just  then  attached  to 
the  Washington  legation.  As  he  had  been  the 
source  of  our  original  information  against  Radet- 
sky  in  Vienna,  he  was  commissioned  to  go  to 
Mountville,  identify  the  body  and  assist  in  the 
search.  He  made  ready  to  go  —  but  was  delayed 
twenty-four  hours  by  an  attack  of  ptomaine 
poisoning  caused  from  your  delicious  but  deadly 
American  lobster.  However,  at  last  arrived  at 
his  destination  by  a  circuitous  route,  he  entered 
the  farm-house  at  the  hour  when,  he  had  been 
informed,  the  spy  and  Radetsky  would  certainly 
be  on  their  way  to  the  village  postoffice,  where 
they  were  accustomed  to  call  twice  every  day  in 
the  latter's  hope  of  hearing  from  his  Austrian 
fellow-conspirators  or  of  hearing  that  his  supposed 
friend  had  received  from  Berlin  the  final  orders 
and  money  for  the  purchase  of  the  plans  of  the 
fortifications. 

"  Now,  Monsieur  Czibulka,  as  he  has  just  assured 
me,  did  not,  being  a  humane  man,  want  to  be 
present  at  the  actual  killing  of  Radetsky.  The 
latter,  however,  seems  hourly  to  have  been  growing 


The  Stolen  Blueprints  115 

more  and  more  suspicious  of  his  house-companion, 
and,  on  this  particular  day,  when  the  pair  met 
a  couple  of  strangers  on  the  road  and  were  asked 
questions  of  an  unusual  sort,  those  suspicions 
leaped  into  a  kind  of  hysterical  certainty.  The 
traitor  insisted  upon  an  immediate  return  to  the 
house,  which,  you  understand  of  course,  was 
thus  reached  before  Monsieur  Czibulka  was 
expecting  such  a  home-coming. 

"  In  brief,  my  friends,  there  was  a  tableau  - 
and  a  cry  from  Radetsky,  which  was  necessarily 
cut  short  by  our  spy,  along  with  the  life  of  the 
man  who  had  uttered  it.  The  search  of  the  house 
was  at  once  completed;  the  blue-prints  were 
found  under  the  bricks  of  the  kitchen-hearth,  and 
Monsieur  Czibulka  and  the  spy,  their  work  quite 
accomplished,  fled  with  all  speed  —  separating  at 
Philadelphia,  the  former  to  return  to  his  duties 
in  Washington,  the  latter  to  proceed  at  once 
with  the  papers,  to  Vienna. 

"  Monsieur  Czibulka  naturally  supposed  the 
matter  well  ended.  Indeed,  I  may  say  that  we 
all  supposed  as  much,  and  I  make  no  doubt  but 
that  you  will  appreciate  our  sense  of  relief.  Alas, 
the  difficulties  had  only  begun! 

"  Within  a  few  days  we  learned,  to  our  amaze 
ment,  that  the  spy  had  been  met  at  Philadelphia 
by  a  woman  whose  description  answered  to  that 


116  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

of  the  Countess  Routkovsky,  though  she  then 
called  herself  by  the  less  lofty  name  of  Gretchen 
Meyer.  The  two  of  them,  it  seemed,  had  then 
proceeded  to  New  York,  whence  they  sailed  on 
the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  II  for  Cherbourg.  Thence 
they  were  traced  to  Paris  —  and  here  we  have  lost 
sight  of  them  altogether!  " 

The  Ambassador  paused,  his  story  completed, 
and,  turning  up  the  palms  of  his  hands  hopelessly, 
looked  us  over  with  the  gaze  of  a  beaten 
man. 

We  were  all  silent  for  a  moment.  I  looked  at 
Frances  to  see  how  she  had  received  the  story  and 
thought  I  noticed  a  skeptical  curve  in  the  corners 
of  her  lips.  It  was  she  who  first  spoke. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "  do  you  mean  to  say  that 
your  agent  eloped  with  the  friend  of  the  man  he 
had  just  killed?" 

The  Ambassador  nodded. 

"  That  he  was  so  suddenly  converted  to  a  cause 
the  temptation  of  which  he  had  so  successfully 
resisted  all  the  while  he  was  on  the  Jaeger 
farm?  " 

"So  it  would  appear,  mademoiselle." 

"  But,  monsieur,  how  do  you  account  for  any 
thing  so  out  of  all  reason?  " 

:<  I  do  not  account  for  it:  I  accept  the  facts  — 
the  testimony  of  those  who,  too  late,  followed  the 


The  Stolen  Blueprints  117 

runaways'  trail,  and  the  undeniable  truth  that, 
wherever  he  may  now  be,  this  spy  has  not  delivered 
the  papers  to  his  government.  Those  of  my 
colleagues  who  like  to  theorize  have  concluded 
that  someone  in  the  Washington  embassy  had 
forewarned  the  Countess.  She  is  known  to  have 
had  a  strong,  personal  dislike  for  Radetsky, 
even  while  compelled  to  work  for  him,  because 
it  was  he  who  first  won  money  from  her  and  then 
forced  her  into  the  occupation  of  a  spy:  my 
colleagues,  therefore,  conclude  that,  forewarned 
as  she  must  have  been,  she  nevertheless  allowed 
Radetsky  to  be  murdered ;  that  she  then  either 
raised  funds  from  the  Russian  ambassador  to 
America  to  buy  the  murderer  —  or  else  that  she 
in  some  way  imposed  upon  the  man,  doubtless 
making  full  use  of  her  wonderful  beauty,  and  so, 
bringing  him  to  this  city,  made  away  with  him. 
It  matters  little:  in  either  event,  the  plans  are 
now  in  the  possession  of  the  Countess  Routkovsky 
and  Colonel  Lichtenstein.  It  is  to  recover  them 
that  Monsieur  Czibulka  has  been  sent  to  France, 
and  it  is  because  I  feared  that  your  impetuous 
American  virtues  might  prevent  this  recovery  that 
I  assumed  toward  you,  my  friends,  a  manner  that 
I  now  deeply  regret." 

Once  more  we  all  came  to  a  pause  —  the  others 
for  what  reasons  I  can't  guess,  but  I  because,  sud- 


118  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

denly,  all  things  else  seemed  of  small  import 
beside  the  hope  that  Gretchen  Meyer  might  still 
be  somewhere  in  Paris  and  that  it  might  be  my 
good  fortune  again  to  see  her  beautiful  face  with 
its  blazing,  black  eyes  and  red  wound  of  a  mouth. 

"  You  are  sure,"  I  asked  finally,  "  that  they 
have  not  yet  left  this  city?  " 

"  I  am  quite  sure  that  the  Colonel,  the  Countess 
and  the  plans  are  still  in  Paris.  The  moment 
the  fugitives  were  lost  sight  of  by  the  agent  that 
had  trailed  them  from  Cherbourg,  we  had  spies 
stationed  at  the  Russian  embassy,  and  from  that 
minute  until  this,  every  railway  station,  every 
avenue  of  exit  from  the  city,  has  been  watched 
night  and  day." 

She  was  really  here  then !  That  was  enough  for 
me.  I  didn't  worry  any  more  about  the  troubles 
of  Austria  or  the  woes  of  ambassadors.  Only 
dimly  do  I  recall  the  round  of  apologies  that 
followed  the  conclusion  of  de  Hetzendorf's  nar 
rative,  the  detective's  re-inforced  promises  of 
silence,  and  the  diplomat's  shower  of  compliments. 
The  next  thing,  in  truth,  of  which  I  was,  in  any 
sane  degree,  conscious  was  the  fact  that  we  were 
once  more  standing,  Frances  and  I,  in  the  Rue 
de  Varenne,  and  that  my  own  voice,  strangely 
unfamiliar  in  its  detachment  from  the  trend  of 
thoughts,  was  murmuring : 


The  Stolen  Blueprints  119 

"  So  we  needn't  have  been  so  careful  in  keeping 
an  eye  on  Czibulka,  after  all." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  snapped  Frances;  "  but  I  think 
our  friend  the  ambassador  had  better  keep  both 
eyes  on  him,  just  the  same." 


CHAPTER  XI 

AU  L'ABBAYE 
"  Take  thou  away  from  me  the  noise  of  thy  songs." 

THE  hint  of  a  further  mystery  about  Czibulka 
brought  me  back  in  all  haste  from  the  world  of 
dreams. 

"  What  do  you  think  is  the  row  in  that  quar 
ter?  "  I  asked  as  we  mounted  a  passing  cab  and 
headed  toward  the  Chatham. 

"  Czibulka,"  replied  Frances  yawning  osten 
tatiously,  "  is,  of  course,  a  traitor  to  his  own 
employer." 

But  I  could  not  at  all  see  how  that  might  be, 
and  I  confessed  as  much. 

"  If  your  memory  were  good,"  she  responded, 
"  you  could  not  help  seeing  it.  The  whole  thing 
hinges  on  the  statement  of  that  Pullman  con 
ductor  on  the  Philadelphia  train :  he  told  us  that 
the  man  with  the  scar  left  his  companion  at 
Philadelphia  after  the  red-headed  woman  came 
aboard.  Therefore,  one  of  three  things  must  be 
true:  first,  the  conductor's  memory  must  have 

120 


Au  L'Abbaye 121 

failed  him  in  that  particular,  although  it  ap 
parently  remained  perfect  in  all  others;  or, 
second,  the  ambassador's  whole  story  is  a  lie,  and 
much  of  it  sounded  true;  or,  finally,  Czibulka, 
while  in  the  pay  of  Austria,  is  also  in  league  with 
the  Countess  and  her  Russian  spies.  You  may 
take  your  choice.  For  my  part,  I'm  inclined  to 
think  that  there  was  just  a  slight  tendency  toward 
romance  in  the  ambassador's  yarn  —  there  were 
several  points  about  it  that  struck  me  as  rather 
suspicious,  as,  for  instance,  the  necessity  of  the 
murder,  when  they  could  have  got  all  they 
wanted  without  actual  bloodshed  and  run  far  less 
danger  of  discovery.  All  the  same,  I'm  about 
convinced  that  Czibulka  is  either  a  complete 
traitor  to  his  master  or  else  is  carrying  water  on 
both  shoulders  and  drawing  money  from  each 
bucket." 

I  saw  that  she  was  well  away  on  one  of  her 
soliloquizing  sprees,  and  I  let  her  go  unaccom 
panied;  I  myself  fell  to  dreaming  again  of  the 
Fraulein  Meyer  —  or  the  Countess  Routkovsky  - 
one  name  was  quite  as  good  as  another,  and  none, 
I  felt  silently  sure,  could  be  the  name  of  a  mere 
adventuress  —  let  her  go  on,  I  say,  all  the  while 
we  were  being  driven  through  the  streets  behind 
a  bony  Paris  horse  and  as  we  were  being  assigned 
to  our  rooms  by  the  gallant  gentleman  in  the 


122  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

plug  hat,  who  greeted  us  on  our  entrance  to  the 
hotel,  and  continue  until,  dinner  over  and  coffee 
served,  she  came  to  a  stop  at  last  as  we  sat  looking 
out  on  the  little  hotel-court.  Then  I  saw  her 
yawn  again. 

I  looked  at  my  watch,  and  her  eyes  framed  a 
question. 

"  Ten-thirty,"  I  answered. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Frances  decisively,  "  I 
shall  turn  in  while  you  go  and  do  the  boule 
vards." 

"  While  I  —  .     But  how  did  you  know  —  ?  " 

"  Because  it's  your  first  night  in  Paris.  Good 
night,  and  remember  that  we  must  breakfast  not 
a  moment  later  than  nine." 

With  that  she  left  me,  and  I  did  set  out 
upon  much  the  sort  of  expedition  that  she  had 
hinted  at,  though  to  a  goal  that  even  Frances 
Baird  little  imagined. 

Just  where  I  went  I  didn't,  at  that  time,  know, 
but  now  I  understand  that,  at  last,  I  must  have 
walked  west  along  the  Boulevard  des  Capucines, 
for  I  came  out  on  the  Place  de  la  Madeleine,  and 
thence  turned  northward  into  the  maze  of  steep, 
dark,  narrow  streets  that  fringe  the  southern 
boundary  of  Montmartre.  There  was  a  chilly 
silence  —  almost  a  mystery  —  about  them  that 
gave  me  a  keener  sense  of  being  far  from  America 


Au  L'Abbaye 123 

than  I  had  met  in  all  the  lighted  and  crowded 
thoroughfares  below,  and  it  was  almost  with 
regret  that,  finally,  I  struck  east  upon  the  Boule 
vard  de  Clichy  and  came  into  the  blaze  of  lights 
that  crown  the  Place  Pigalle. 

I  was  tired  and  I  wanted  to  rest ;  I  was  hungry 
and  I  wanted  to  eat.  I  asked  a  loiterer  where  I 
might  find  a  cafe",  and  he,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
pointed  to  where  the  lights  were  brightest  and 
murmured : 

"  UAbbaye,  le  restaurant  d' Albert,  c'est  la." 

I  crossed  the  street,  climbed  a  narrow  flight  of 
stairs,  and  then  the  blare  of  music,  the  clatter  of 
dishes,  the  sound  of  song  and  the  melody  of  many 
laughing  voices  struck  me  almost  as  a  blow. 

In  white  and  pale  green  from  floor  to  high 
ceiling,  the  rectangular  room  was  not  so  small  as 
to  be  close,  nor  yet  so  large  that  its  habitue's 
might  not  form  one  party.  The  long  wall-seats 
were  crowded,  and  so  too  were  the  chairs  that 
faced  them  across  marble-topped  tables;  even 
the  smaller  tables  —  agleam  with  bright  silver 
and  napery  and  heavy  with  tall  bottles  and  petty 
dishes  —  which  formed  a  continuous  rampart 
between,  shooting  out  spurs  of  still  other  crowded 
tables  that  left  scarce  ten  square  feet  of  highway 
between  the  four  walls.  Here  and  there  a  white 
pillar  rose  to  the  roof,  but  never  obstructed  one's 


124  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

view  of  the  ensemble,  never  curtailed  one's  share 
in  the  show. 

I  looked  about  me  like  the  veriest  yokel  in 
Cosmopolis.  There  were  French  faces,  German 
faces,  Russian  faces;  in  one  corner  sat  an  un 
mistakable  Turk,  who  had  not  found  it  necessary 
to  conceal  his  nationality  in  Occidental  clothing; 
and,  in  another,  beside  an  officer  in  the  uniform 
of  a  line  regiment,  sat  a  kimonoed  Japanese  girl 
smoking  a  Maryland  cigarette.  And  all  the  while 
the  red-coated  orchestra  was  crashing  away  - 
a  brave,  little  Spaniard  flourishing  his  tambourine 
before  them,  or  a  sinuous  woman  of  his  race 
dancing,  with  castagnettes  in  her  hands,  while  all 
the  onlookers  sang  and  snapped  their  fingers  by 
way  of  accompaniment. 

For  minutes  I  stood  in  the  doorway  motionless 
until  at  last  I  got  the  eye  of  a  gar  con. 

"  But  no,"  the  bowing  waiter  declared,  "it  is 
impossible  to  discover  for  monsieur  a  place  vacant 
in  the  chief  apartment.  The  most  one  can  do  for 
him  is  to  offer  this.  Will  monsieur  follow?  " 

He  led  the  way  past  the  gay,  laughing  faces  to 
"  this,"  which  proved  a  pretty  good  second-best. 
It  was  a  place  in  a  room  separated  from  the  main 
salon  only  by  a  partition  a  few  feet  high,  and,  as 
the  particular  little  table  to  which  I  was  ushered 
faced  this,  I  soon  found  myself  so  ensconced  as  to 


Au  L'Abbaye 125 

be  almost  a  part  of  the  general  gathering.  I  had 
a  full  view  of  all  the  company,  only  partially 
intercepted  by  the  big,  black  hat  of  a  woman  that 
was  similarly  seated,  in  the  larger  room,  upon  the 
divan  that  ran  along  the  other  side  of  the  low 
wall.  Her  back  was  toward  me,  of  course,  and 

—  across  the  rivulet  of  white  cloth  between  them 

—  her  eyes  were  seemingly  intent  upon  the  man 
who  was  evidently  her  host. 

For  some  time  I  sat  there,  watching  the  moving 
picture  in  front  of  me  —  the  running  waiters, 
flirting  their  white  napkins  or  bobbing  to  the  floor 
to  raise  from  its  bucket  of  ice  a  bottle  of  cham 
pagne  ;  the  merry  women,  with  their  immaculately 
old-young  lovers ;  the  sweating  musicians  —  and 
then,  somehow,  my  glance  rested  on  the  man 
facing  me,  across  from  the  black-hatted  woman, 
and  I  saw  that  he  was  ummistakably  an  Austrian. 

That  he  belonged  to  the  race  of  my  quest  was 
enough  to  rivet  my  attention.  Tall,  erectly 
seated,  with  a  pair  of  angry  eyes  and  fierce,  black 
moustaches,  a  weather-beaten  and  rugged  face, 
I  at  once  made  up  my  mind  that  this  man,  in 
spite  of  his  plain  evening  clothes,  was  a  soldier. 
And  I  had  just  come  to  that  conclusion  when  the 
woman  turned  her  profile  toward  me  and  I  knew 
that  her  companion  was  Colonel  Lichtenstein. 

For  the  woman  was   the  Countess   Stephanie 


126  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

Routkovsky.  The  profile  had  been  turned  for 
only  the  glimpse  of  an  instant,  but  that  moment 
had  amply  served.  The  pale  face,  as  fine  of  feature 
as  if  cut  from  Parian  marble  by  a  master's  hand ; 
the  carefully  chiseled  temples;  the  delicately- 
arched  nose  with  its  sensitive  nostrils ;  the  straight, 
dark  brows;  the  black  eyes;  the  haughty  mouth, 
a  vivid  line  of  scarlet  —  it  was  the  woman  I  had 
been  dreaming  of,  the  woman  whom,  a  few  weeks 
before  in  Frances  Baird's  darkened  studio,  I  had 
met  as  Gretchen  Meyer. 

Can  you  wonder  that  I  tried  to  listen,  after  that? 
I  did  try,  at  all  events,  and  I  thanked  Heaven  for 
a  brief  lull  in  the  music  that  enabled  me  to  hear 
her  voice  again. 

"  But,  truly,  you  should  not  have  come,"  she 
was  saying  in  her  perfect  English.  "  The  risk  is 
too  great." 

Lichtenstein  snorted,  almost  contemptuously. 

"  They  do  not  even  guess  that  we  are  in  Paris," 
he  rumbled  in  a  mighty  but  subdued  bass. 

At  the  risk  of  his  observing  me,  I  leaned  far 
forward  to  catch  her  answer,  and  I  fancied  a 
certain  weariness  in  her  tone  as  she  replied  to 
him: 

"1  was  not  thinking  of  —  ourselves.  I  was 
thinking  of  him.  You  are  quite  forgetting  him: 
you  should  have  remained  at  his  side." 


Au  L'Abbaye 127 

The  Colonel  refilled  his  glass. 

"  I  am  not  a  jailor,"  he  protested. 

"  No,  not  a  jailor;  but  you  are  a  man  with  a 
duty,"  she  corrected.  "  Why  did  you  forget  it? 
Why  did  you  come?  " 

Lichtenstein's    features    instantly    softened  - 
and  I  did  not  like  the  change. 

"  Can't  you  guess?  "  he  asked,  bending  toward 
her  across  the  narrow  table  and  trying  to  temper 
his  voice  to  a  milder  note.  "  It  was  because  I 
knew  that  you  were  to  be  here :  because  — 

I  saw  him  put  out  his  heavy  hand,  and  my  heart 
swelled  with  hate  of  him,  but  just  then  the  red- 
coated  orchestra  broke  into  the  mattchiche,  and 
something  happened  that  kept  the  Colonel's 
hand  suspended  in  mid-air. 

Down  at  the  very  entrance  of  the  room  a  single 
high,  discordant  voice  had  taken  up  —  or  tried 
to  take  up  —  the  Paphian  melody.  Woefully 
out  of  tune  it  sang,  and  it  broke  altogether  on  the 
first  high  note,  but  under  that  and  beyond,  there 
was  a  certain  uncanny  quality  that  rasped  every 
ear  and  brought  upon  the  solitary  singer  the  eye 
of  everyone  in  the  two  rooms  —  such  a  ghost  of 
a  voice  it  was,  or,  perhaps,  a  voice  gone 
mad. 

"  Ma  jolie  Dirc6  Choux-Choux, 
Elle  /ait  —  » 


128  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

The  company  roared  in  glee  at  the  novelty, 
but  I  heard  the  Countess  gasp,  and  saw  the 
Colonel  give  one  quick  glance  and  then  spring  to 
his  feet. 

My  own  would  scarcely  have  borne  me:  the 
singer  stood  alone  by  the  main  entrance;  his 
clothes  were  conventional;  his  newly  cut  hair 
was  brushed  straight  back,  without  any  parting, 
from  his  high,  narrow  forehead ;  his  face  had  been 
freshly  shaven;  and  in  his  eyes  was  the  fire  of 
madness  —  but  for  all  that  I  knew  him. 

It  was  Wilhelm  Jaeger. 


CHAPTER   XII 

A    LEAN    SPY    AND    A    KEEN    KNIFE 

"  Mischief  shall  come  upon  mischief,  and  rumour  shall 
be  upon  rumour." 

MY  own  panic  passed  even  more  rapidly  than 
it  had  come  and  left  me  sharp  and  alert.  The  old 
instinct  of  the  reporter  took  command  of  me  and 
I  was  at  once  the  calm  and  not  unresourceful 
Sammy  Burton  with  whom  I  was  best  acquainted. 
In  a  single  breath  I  felt  that,  somehow,  my  grand 
moment  had  at  last  arrived  and  had  found  me 
ready  for  it. 

Not  so  the  Countess.  Her  face,  turned  toward 
that  mad  apparition  at  the  doorway,  was  in  full 
view,  and  I  saw  it  changed  as  if  momentarily 
petrified,  —  the  black  eyes  were  wide  and  rigid, 
the  very  lips,  but  now  scarlet,  were  gone  white, 
and  the  whole  was  a  fixed  mask  of  terror. 

She  half  arose. 

"  I  told  you  not  to  come!  "  she  cried. 

But  LIchtenstein's  rough  hand  which,  a  moment 
before,  had  been  raised  in  a  caress,  fell  forcibly 
upon  her  shoulder  and  pushed  her  back  against 
the  cushions  of  the  divan. 

129 


130  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"  It  will  be  all  right!  "  he  muttered  in  a  ready 
German.  "  Keep  quiet.  Sit  still." 

He  started  to  leave  her  and  to  advance  to  the 
leering  maniac,  who  still  stood  in  his  former  place, 
apparently  well  pleased  with  the  applauding 
company.  The  Countess,  however,  plucked  at 
her  companion's  sleeve,  her  face,  as  she  spoke, 
growing  a  little  more  composed. 

"Very  well,"  she  said  —  also  in  German. 
"  Pretend  that  he  is  drunk.  But  be  careful.  The 
front  may  be  watched.  I  know  this  place.  Say 
to  Albert  —  the  proprietor  —  the  blond  man  over 
there  —  say  to  him  that  this  person  is  a  friend  of 
mine  and  must  be  taken  out  the  rear  way." 

The  Colonel  nodded  in  ready  comprehension. 

"  Good,"  he  growled.  '  Join  us  as  soon  as  you 
safely  can." 

With  that  he  sailed  into  action,  and  even  I  had 
to  admire  the  skill  with  which  he  managed  his 
difficult  task.  I  saw  him  approach  the  madman, 
smiling  the  indulgent  smile  with  which  the  man 
of  the  world  aids  and  insults  a  drunken  comrade; 
I  saw  him,  in  this  new  role,  make  his  quick,  reliant 
way  among  the  gossiping  tables,  nodding  to  the 
laughing  company;  I  saw  him  whisper  a  word  to 
Albert;  I  saw  Albert  bow,  and  then  I  saw  him 
seize  the  madman  by  the  arm  and,  before  his 
victim  had  well  recognized  the  assailant,  I  saw 


A  Lean  Spy  and  a  Keen  Knife      131 

him  bundle  that  victim  through  the  door.  Thus 
much,  I  say,  I  watched  admiringly,  but  there  my 
interest  in  Lichtenstein,  at  least  for  a  time,  ended : 
his  exit  was  my  entrance-cue,  and  I  took  it  with 
out  further  delay. 

Quite  as  suddenly  as  the  Colonel  had  gone,  I 
came  into  the  main  room  and  slipped  into  the 
seat  that  he  had  just  left  —  the  seat  across  the 
table  from  the  Countess. 

"  Fraulein,"  I  said,  bowing  in  as  matter-of-fact 
fashion  as  I  could  just  then  muster,  "  it  is  indeed 
so  pleasant  a  surprise  for  me  to  see  you  here  that 
I  cannot  but  ask  the  honour  of  one  little  word  of 
recognition." 

It  was  clumsy  irony,  of  course,  but,  even  so, 
it  was  too  subtle  to  bash  its  way  into  an  intelli 
gence  still  stunned  by  the  terror  that  I  had  just 
witnessed.  The  Countess  did  not  understand  a 
word  of  it.  Slowly  she  drew  her  gaze  from  the 
now  empty  doorway  and,  quite  as  slowly,  fixed 
it  upon  me. 

"  Perhaps,"  I  stupidly  pursued,  "  you  do  not 
pay  me  the  compliment  of  recognition.  1  beg 
then,  mademoiselle,  to  recall  to  you  the  fact  that  I 
had  the  privilege  of  a  presentation  to  you  not  long 
since  at  the  rooms,  in  Philadelphia,  of  my  friend, 
Miss  Baird." 

I  had  not  thought  it  possible  for  her  terror  to 


132  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

be  intensified,  but,  as  I  spoke,  I  saw,  in  the  marble 
of  her  face,  a  quick  spasm  of  recognition  that  told 
of  a  new  agony  of  fright.  Yet  I  was  being  ridden 
by  that  imp  of  perversity,  which,  at  such  moments, 
delights  to  ride  us  and  goad  the  tongue  to  wound 
ing  what  the  heart  most  loves. 

"  It  is  true,"  I  pursued,  "  that  on  that  occasion 
you  did  not  care  to  see  much  of  me,  but  I  had  dared 
to  hope,  after  what  I  have  just  observed  in  this 
room,  that  you  might  now  be  better  inclined  —  " 

And  right  there  in  the  midst  of  my  half -taunting 
sentence  I  stopped  short.  The  face  opposite  me 
had  undergone  another  change  —  a  quick  soften 
ing.  A  row  of  white  teeth  were  buried  in 'the  lower 
lip ;  the  great  black  eyes  were  filled  with  tears  — 
the  Countess  was  crying. 

Instantly  my  hand  shot  out  to  her  in  mute 
appeal,  and  then,  when  she  still  sat  there,  rigid, 
speechless,  fighting  back  her  tears,  I  stammered : 

"  Forgive  me!  I  —  I  don't  know  why  I  spoke 
so,  mademoiselle.  I  give  you  my  word  that  I 
came  here  only  to  help  you.  Tell  me  what  I 
can  do." 

For  a  long  moment  she  fixed  me  with  her  eyes. 

'  You  can  do  nothing,"  she  whispered. 

"  But  I  must.  You  are  in  trouble,  and  I  have 
helped  to  hurt  you.  If  only  in  order  to  show  me 
that  I  have  your  forgiveness,  mademoiselle  — 


A  Lean  Spy  and  a  Keen  Knife      133 

"  You  have  my  forgiveness,"  she  said  softly. 

"  Then,  if  only  to  prove  that,  permit  me  to 
help  you  now  —  to-night." 

Once  more  she  studied  me,  her  great  black  eyes 
looking  searchingly  into  mine,  and  once  more  she 
shook  her  head. 

"  No,"  she  said  in  those  deep,  contralto  notes 
that  had  so  thrilled  me  when  I  heard  them  first; 
"  I  cannot  endanger  any  more  of  those  who  wish 
me  well.  I  thank  you,  my  friend,  from  my  heart, 
and  I  myself"  -and  she  smiled  sadly-  "I 
myself  make  an  apology  for  the  way  in  which  I 
seemed  to  treat  you  on  the  evening  that  you  have 
but  now  mentioned.  It  is  true,  what  you  say: 
I  am  in  a  little  trouble.  But  it  is  a  little  trouble 
only  and  —  I  must  get  away  from  it  alone." 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  protested,  "  you  force  me 
to  make  you  accept  my  offer  of  assistance.  — 
Mademoiselle,  I  know  more  than  you  suppose." 

Again  she  smiled  gently. 

"  But  not  the  truth,"  she  said.  "  No  one  seems 
now  to  have  the  truth.  You  find  me  indeed  so 
surrounded  by  treachery  that  I  am  suspicious 
of  even  those  who  should  be  my  stanchest  allies 
—  so  deceived,  I  fear,  by  my  very  friends  that  I 
can  scarcely  hope  for  good  offices  from  one  whom 
I  have  met  but  once  and  whom  at  that  time  I 
treated  so  shabbily." 


134  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

Protest  was  still  ready  on  my  tongue  when  one 
of  her  phrases  struck  the  alarm-bell  of  my  con 
science.  I  recollected,  in  a  flash,  that  I  was 
enlisted  on  the  other  side,  that  this  woman  was 
one  of  the  criminals  that  I  had  crossed  the  ocean 
to  find  and  that,  could  I  only  compel  myself  to 
have  the  eye  of  truth,  I  should  see  drops  of  blood 
upon  the  little,  jewelled  hand  that  lay  so  close  to 
my  own. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  said  stiffly,  "  your  refusal 
is  so  final  that  I  must,  I  suppose,  accept  it."  — 
And  I  made  as  if  to  rise. 

The  Countess  raised  her  proud  head.  Our 
glances  met  again  and  in  her  eyes  there  was  that 
which  kept  me  in  my  chair. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said  quietly,  her  eyes 
unwaveringly  fixed  on  mine :  '  You  believe  — • 
what  you  cannot  help  believing.  Go,  then,  I 
have  not  at  any  time  sought  to  detain  you." 

I  writhed. 

"  I  admit  it,  mademoiselle,"  I  said.  "  I 
honestly  wanted  to  help  you  —  before  I  remem 
bered  —  before  I  came  entirely  to  myself.  It 
is  the  height  of  folly  for  me  to  confess  even  so 
much  as  this  —  but,  oh,  remember  how  you  came 
to  us  —  how  you  told  us  the  details  of  a  crime 
almost  twelve  hours  before  it  was  committed  — 
how,  when  it  was  committed,  those  details  were 


A  Lean  Spy  and  a  Keen  Knife      135 

all  just  as  you  had  described  them  to  Frances 
Baird  and  me!  " 

I  stopped  short,  but  she  only  nodded  gravely. 

"  Hang  it  all!  "  I  cried.  "  Can't  you,  won't  you 
explain  it  away?  Can't  you,  at  least,  tell  me  that 
I  am  mad?  " 

"  I  can  tell  you,  monsieur,  that  I  thank  you 
sincerely  for  being  so  good  as  to  want  to  believe 
well  of  me,  —  and  then  I  can  say  to  you  only 
'  Good  night.'  " 

She  raised  her  hand  and,  for  just  a  fleeting 
instant,  touched  mine  where  it  lay  clenched  upon 
the  table  that  separated  us.  It  was  the  merest 
touch,  the  unconscious  signal  of  regretful  parting, 
but  the  thought  of  the  blood  upon  her  pulsing 
fingers  troubled  me  no  more.  In  that  second  I 
flung  everything  else  overboard  —  and  in  the  next 
second  I  was  glad  of  it. 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  not  '  Good  night.'  "  I 
sought  to  retain  the  little  hand,  but  it  had  vanished 
as  it  had  come,  and  I  continued:  "  I  do  not  only 
want  to  believe  well  of  you,  mademoiselle  —  I  do 
believe." 

Her  face  flashed  into  radiance. 

"  Then,"  she  said  conclusively,  "  I  ask  no  more 
of  you.  You  will  do  your  duty  on  the  side  in 
which  you  are  enlisted;  but  at  least  I  have  a 
gallant  foe." 


136  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"  About  doing  my  duty,  I'll  think  later.  I  can 
not,  of  course,  tell  you  any  more  of  my  mission  - 
or  what  was  my  mission  —  than  you  feel  that  you 
may  tell  me  of  yours,  but  I  shall  say  that  only  this 
evening  I  learned  just  how  great  your  danger 
really  is.  I  learned  —  " 

"  No  more,"  she  interrupted,  lifting  her  hand 
with  a  motion  of  finality,  "  you  must  not  desert 
your  cause." 

But  this  time  it  was  for  me  to  regard  her, 
looking  deep  into  her  black  eyes. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  solemnly  declared,  "  I  tell 
you  truly  that  I  am  a  free-lance  and  that  I  am 
altogether  at  your  service." 

"  I  cannot  permit  it,"  she  insisted. 

"  But  at  least,  though,  you  are  going  to  allow 
me  to  help  you  to-night.  I  heard  you  say  to  your 
companion  that  this  place  may  be  watched.  Oh, 
believe  me,  not  by  anyone  to  whom  I  owe  alle 
giance  !  —  Yet  I  understand  that  the  pressing  need 
of  this  moment  is  that  you  leave  here  unseen  and 
soon.  Let  me  aid  you  in  this." 

She  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  her  chin  in  her  hand, 
her  red  lips  firm  and  sweet  and  two  lines  of  thought 
between  her  even  brows. 

'  Yes,"  she  admitted  at  last.  "  I  may  need  your 
help,  and  I  shall  let  you  give  it.  Listen :  I  must 
drive  from  this  place  and  it  is  better  that  I  go 


A  Lean  Spy  and  a  Keen  Knife      137 

boldly.  Yet  my  cab  may  be  followed.  You,  there 
fore,  must  go  with  me,  giving  an  address  that  is 
within  not  less  than  a  street  of  my  real  one.  There 
I  shall  dismount  quickly  and  so,  going  the  re 
mainder  of  the  way  afoot,  I  shall  escape  whatever 
man  might  follow  us  in  another  cab,  while  you 
drive  on  to  your  hotel.  You  observe,  my  friend, 
that  I  dare  trust  not  even  the  drivers.  —  Will  you 
come?  " 

For  answer  to  her  question  I  beckoned  the 
waiter. 

"  Mademoiselle's  wraps,"  I  commanded. 

And  when  I  turned  to  her  again,  I  found  her 
smiling  once  more  —  not  now  in  sadness,  but, 
though  tenderly,  yet  with  a  radiance  that  lighted 
her  whole,  lovely  face  as  with  a  wistful  glory. 

'  You  tempt  me,"  she  said,  "  to  enlist  you 
further.  Such  loyal  readiness  to  serve  an  unknown 
cause  —  one  finds  it  not  everywhere,  monsieur." 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  replied,  "  if  you  would  only 
try  me,  you  would  learn  what  loyalty  really  is." 

She  would  have  answered,  but  the  waiter  had 
returned  with  her  long,  evening  cloak,  and  would 
have  held  it  for  her  had  I  not  snatched  it,  some 
what  roughly,  I  am  afraid,  from  his  grasp. 

I  wonder  even  now  if  she  knew  with  what  a 
thrill  I  wrapped  it  about  her  shoulders;  if  she 
must  not  have  felt,  through  its  soft,  clinging  folds, 


138  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

the  caress  of  my  hands,  the  reverence  of  my  dumb, 
adoring  heart !  Perhaps  —  for  it  was  not  until 
we  were  half  way  down  the  stairs  that  she  spoke. 

"  The  driver,"  she  said  quickly  then,  returning 
thus  to  the  practical  features  of  our  escape;  "  you 
will  tell  him,  please,  that  he  is  to  drive  to  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  Vivienne  and  the  Rue  du  4  Septembre." 

I  had  put  out  my  hand,  turning  at  the  last  step 
to  look  up  at  her. 

"  And  your  own  address?  "  I  asked. 

For  only  answer  to  this  she  put  her  gloved  finger 
tips  lightly  upon  my  open  palm  and  then  raised 
the  finger  of  silence  to  her  scarlet  lips. 

"  That,"  she  replied  to  me,  "  is  one  of  the  secrets 
that  you  must  leave  to  me,  Mr.  Burton." 

"  Then  you  don't  quite  trust  me  —  even  now?  " 

Something  in  my  tone  must  have  touched  a 
wrong  chord.  Her  proud  chin  shot  upward  and 
her  eyes  snapped  fire. 

"  I  try  your  faith,"  said  she  in  sudden  French. 
"  Monsieur  must  understand  that  some  of  my 
secrets  are  not  mine  alone  —  and,  if  he  refuses, 
he  must  recall  to  himself  that  his  offices  were 
offered  before  I  asked  for  them." 

There  was  always  that  about  her  which  kept 
the  temperature  of  a  conversation  constantly  on 
the  move  —  the  mercury  was  never  long  stationary 
—  and  I  always  followed  it.  Just  now  I  knew  at 


A  Lean  Spy  and  a  Keen  Knife      139 

once  that  I  had  been  guilty  of  some  heinous 
offence. 

"I  —  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  stammered  apol- 
getically.  'You'll  forgive  me  —  won't  you?  — 
Confound  it,"  I  broke  off,  as  her  face  remained 
unrelaxed,  "  you  must  forgive  me!  -  '  And  there 
I  stopped  short,  for  she  had  broken  into  ready 
laughter. 

"  Go,"  she  commanded.  "  Order  the  cab 
nearest  at  hand." 

There  was  a  line  of  them  —  those  Parisian 
night-hawks  —  at  the  very  door,  and  I  had  no 
sooner  put  my  foot  on  the  pavement  than  a 
half-dozen  drivers  were  cocking  their  heads  at 
me.  I  looked  about  hurriedly ;  noted  that,  other 
wise,  the  street  appeared  deserted,  and  then 
chose  the  driver  whose  vehicle  stood  opposite 
our  path  of  exit.  A  moment  later,  I  had  given 
him  the  address  that  the  Countess  had  named 
and,  with  that  lady  deliciously  close  beside  me, 
was  clattering  through  the  wooden-paved  dark 
ness. 

For  quite  a  while  I  dared  not  trust  myself  to 
speak.  To  sit  there,  so  near  to  her  —  the  woman 
who,  I  now  realized,  had  all  the  while  floated 
through  the  golden  background  of  my  dreams  — 
to  see  the  white  mystery  of  her  figure,  to  have  the 
very  perfume  of  her  being  in  my  nostrils  and  to 


140  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

feel,  like  delicate  throbs  of  pain,  the  proximity  of 
her  body  —  we  two,  shut  out  from  all  the  world 
by  the  night  that  only  now  and  then  a  street-lamp 
pierced,  painting  her  living  reality  against  the 
cushions  —  that  was  something  I  dreaded  would 
fade,  as  all  my  previous  dreams  had  faded,  before 
material  speech. 

But  again  it  was  the  necessity  of  our  situation 
that  forced  me  back  upon  the  practical  plane. 

"  I  feel  sure,"  said  I  finally,  "  that  our  pre 
caution  was  useless.  The  street  seemed  empty." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
'  That  emptiness  signifies  nothing,  my  friend," 
she  explained  almost  sadly,   I   thought.      "  My 
enemies  are  of  a  sort  nearly  invisible." 

"  But  why,"  I  persisted,  "  if  you  were  afraid  of 
being  followed,  did  you  come  to  a  public  cafe" 
to-night?  " 

"  I  feared  nothing  when  I  went  there.  It  was 
something  that  occurred  after  my  arrival  —  that 
something  which,  of  course,  you  observed  — 
that  awoke  my  fears." 

"  But  why  then  —  " 

"  My  friend  "  -  she  turned  toward  me,  and  I 
felt,  with  a  sudden  catch  in  my  throat,  the  touch 
of  her  hand  upon  my  arm.  —  "I  may  think  of 
you  as  my  friend,  may  I  not?  " 

She  could  have  called  me  almost  anything  she 


A  Lean  Spy  and  a  Keen  Knife      141 

chose  —  and  I  think  she  must  have  known  it  — 
but  all  I  could  do  was  to  nod. 

"  Then,  my  friend,"  she  pursued,  with  that  deep, 
contralto  note  in  her  voice  that  set  my  heart 
strings  into  a  responding  quaver,  "  it  may  be 
that  to-morrow  I  shall  tell  you  all.  Be  patient 
to-night,  and  I  promise  that,  if  all  goes  well,  I 
shall,  to-morrow  evening  at  eleven  o'clock,  be  at 
the  same  table  that  we  have  left  but  now." 

My  whole  soul  leaped  up  to  thank  her.  But  - 
to-morrow?  Why,  to-morrow  —  in  twenty-four 
hours  —  in  twelve  hours  —  even  to-night,  per 
haps  —  the  ambassador's  trap  might  close  its 
steel  teeth  upon  her  —  the  end  of  all  things  might 
well  be  waiting  beyond  any  tick  of  the  watch! 

I  resolved  again  to  fling  all  prejudice  at  the 
winds  of  desire. 

"  You  are  good,"  I  said,  "  and  I  thank  you. 
But  even  you  do  not  know  the  dangers  that  lie 
in  wait  for  you  between  now  and  then." 

"  I  know  far  more  than  you  guess,  monsieur," 
she  said. 

"  But  not  all  that  I  can  tell  you." 

"  At  least  quite  all  that  you  can  tell  me  without 
breaking  faith  with  your  allies." 

"  Faith?  "  I  cried.  "  What  is  faith  worth  when, 
to  keep  it,  I  may  be  imperilling  you  —  when,  to 
keep  it,  I  may  —  " 


142  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"  Faith  is  worth  just  this,"  she  calmly  inter 
rupted:  "  it  is  worth  my  trust  in  you." 

"  But  it  is  just  that  —  " 

"  It  is  just  that  I  could  trust  no  man  that  cannot 
be  true  to  his  own  people." 

I  felt  the  merited  lash  that  she  gave  me  and  I 
bowed  to  it  despairingly. 

"  Yet  this  I  must  say,"  I  protested :  "  the  thing 
that  has  made  you  suddenly  afraid  is  the  fact  of 
this  Wilhelm  Jaeger's  appearance  at  the  cafe". 
You  fear  —  don't  you  —  that,  through  this  public 
appearance,  his  whereabouts  may  become  known 
to  —  your  enemies?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  slowly,  "  that  is  what  I 
fear." 

"  And  you  hope  that  your  friends  — 

"  Say  rather  my  colleagues." 

"  That  your  colleagues  will  be  able  to  get  this 
man  out  of  Paris  some  time  to-morrow?  " 

"  That  is  our  plan." 

"  Then  I  must  tell  you  that  it  is  impossible. 
It  is  already  known  that  you  and  he  are  somewhere 
in  this  city  —  and  every  railway-station,  every 
possible  avenue  of  exit,  is  watched!  " 

As  if  to  punctuate  my  words,  the  sudden  gleam 
of  a  street-lamp  fell  upon  her  face  and  I  saw  again 
there  the  look  of  white  terror  that  I  had  first 
observed  in  L'Abbaye.  Then,  as  the  blackness 


A  Lean  Spy  and  a  Keen  Knife      143 

enveloped  us  once  more,  she  laughed  —  a  hard, 
hopeless  little  laugh. 

"  In  that  case,"  she  said  in  a  burst  of  bitter 
lightness,  "  nothing  matters.  You  must  not  tell 
me  any  more,  my  friend  —  indeed,  what  you 
have  already  said  reveals  all  that  I  did  not  already 
know.  And  now,  nothing  in  the  world  matters. 
We  are  nearly  arrived.  —  Promise  me  that  you 
will  be  as  loyal  now  as  you  were  in  the  beginning." 

"  I  promise,"  I  whispered  to  her. 

"  That  when  I  leave  this  cab,  you  will  not 
follow  —  no  matter  what  happens  —  unless  I 
call?" 

She  held  her  hand  toward  me  and  I  bowed  over 
it. 

"  I  promise,"  I  repeated. 

"  And  that  from  here  you  will  drive  straight  to 
your  hotel?  " 

"  I  promise,"  I  said  for  the  third  time. 

'  Then,  Mr.  Burton,  I  shall  take  the  risk  and 
keep  with  you  my  appointment  for  to-morrow 
evening." 

The  cab  stopped.  We  were  at  the  dark  corners 
she  had  named.  The  street  was  absolutely  empty. 

I  leaped  out.    I  helped  the  Countess  to  the  curb. 

"  Good  night,"  I  whispered. 

"  Look!  "  she  cried. 

I  wheeled,  my  eyes  following  her  pointing  finger: 


144  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

uncurling  itself  from  the  springs  of  our  cab  there 
was  rising  the  figure  of  a  man. 

I  made  one  leap  upon  him,  just  as  he  got  to  his 
feet,  and  let  him  have  a  left-swing  to  the  head  that 
sent  him  hurtling  against  the  wheel.  Then,  as 
he  came  back  to  me  in  a  kind  of  rubber  rebound, 
I  flung  up  my  right. 

"  La  Savate!  "  I  heard  the  Countess  cry  behind 
me,  but  it  was  too  late  — •  a  swift  shimmer  of  his 
boot  in  the  lamp-light  and  he  had  laid  me, 
groaning,  upon  the  sidewalk. 

For  a  moment  I  could  not  have  stirred  if  eternal 
welfare  had  been  the  reward.  In  a  sick  daze  I 
saw  that  the  Countess  had  started  to  run  down 
the  street;  that  the  stolid  cabbie  sat  motionless 
upon  his  box,  and  that  the  wretched  little  spy  was 
dashing  after  my  companion.  Then,  still  in  the 
haze  of  nausea  after  the  kick,  I  saw  her,  evidently 
realizing  that  to  retreat  farther  would  be  but  to 
disclose  her  address,  stop  short,  whereat  the  spy, 
with  one  bound  more,  was  full  upon  her,  his  hands 
at  her  throat. 

How  I  did  it  I  do  not  know.  My  head  was  still 
swimming  and  my  whole  body  in  contracted 
agony,  but  somehow  I  was  on  my  feet  the  instant 
he  came  up  with  her,  and  somehow,  an  instant 
later,  I  had  grabbed  the  cur  by  the  collar  and 
swung  him  to  the  wall  of  the  nearest  house,  closing 


A  Lean  Spy  and  a  Keen  Knife      145 

in  against  another  vicious  coup  de  pied  and,  with 
one  turn  of  the  wrist,  forcing  him  to  let  clatter 
to  the  ground  the  knife  that  he  had  drawn  as 
I  seized  him. 

"  Now,  mademoiselle,"  I  said,  gasping  a  bit, 
but  serenely  conscious  of  victory;  "  you  may  go 
in  safety.  I  regret  that  our  position  makes  it 
imperative  that  I  shall  neither  kill  our  little 
friend,  nor  even  hand  him  over  to  a  sergent  de 
mile,  but  I  shall  at  least  have  no  difficulty  in 
keeping  him  entertained  until  you  are  quite  out 
of  sight." 

She  looked  at  me  with  grateful  eyes  that  repaid 
everything. 

"  I  shall  not  forget,"  she  said  quietly  and  once 
again  held  out  her  hand. 

I  bent  and  kissed  it,  my  own  fingers  firm  about 
that  fellow's  bull  neck. 

"  Adieu,"  I  said. 

"  No,"  she  corrected,  laughing  as  she  turned 
away,  "  your  French  is  inaccurate."  And  then, 
over  her  shoulder,  she  added:  "  Au  revoir." 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE    RAID    ON    THE    EMBASSY 

"  For  thy  mouth  uttereth  thine  iniquity,  and  thou  choosest 
the  tongue  of  the  crafty. 

"Thine  own  mouth  condemneth  thee,  and  not  I:  yea, 
thine  own  lips  testify  against  thee." 

I  WAITED  until  the  darkness  had  swallowed  up 
her  footsteps,  and  then  tossed  my  captive  over 
into  the  light  of  the  cab-lamp. 

He  was  my  friend  Cross-Eye  of  the  Austrian 
embassy. 

"  So,"  I  thought,  "  I  wonder,  now,  my  man, 
whether  you  followed  me  all  the  way  from  the 
Rue  de  Varenne."  And  aloud,  in  French,  I 
added:  'Who  was  it  that  sent  you  on  this 
pleasant  little  mission,  —  the  Baron,  Czibulka,  or 
both?" 

His  answer  was  only  a  torrent  of  what  must  have 
been  curses  in  a  tongue  that  must  have  been 
Czeck. 

I  gave  him  a  little  shake  just  to  jolt  his  intel 
ligence. 

"  Come,"  I  said,  "  my  French  was  good  enough 

146 


The  Raid  on  the  Embassy  147 

for  you  to  understand  it  a  few  hours  ago.  Speak 
up,  and  answer  my  question!  " 

But  he  only  shook  his  head,  and,  as  he  persisted 
in  this  pose,  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  submit. 

"  Very  well,"  I  grumbled,  "  I  should  prefer  a 
companion  whom  I  could  talk  to  with  some  hope 
of  replies  from  him,  but,  since  that's  impossible, 
we  shall  have  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain, 
and  keep  silence." 

And  with  that  I  tossed  him  into  the  cab,  told 
the  driver  to  drive  anywhere  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  at  the  end  of  which  time,  while  we  were 
still  going  at  a  fair  pace,  I  dumped  the  little 
fellow  into  the  street  and,  finally,  proceeded  to 
my  hotel  for  the  last  surprise  of  the  evening. 

It  was  waiting  for  me  in  the  half -lighted  passage 
outside  of  my  room  and  its  name  was  Frances 
Baird. 

"  Good  Heavens!"  I  cried  "  I  thought  you 
had  gone  to  bed  hours  ago.  Don't  you  know  it's 
nearly  morning?  What  in  the  world  has  been 
happening  now?  " 

"  Open  your  door,"  she  said  laughing  a  little, 
"  and  then  I  may  answer  one  of  your  questions 
at  a  time." 

I  obeyed  and,  when  I  had  snapped  on  the  elec 
tricity  and  had  lighted  a  cigarette,  Frances,  seated 
by  the  curtained  window,  began  her  story. 


148  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"  I  did  mean  to  go  to  bed,"  she  declared. 
"  And  I  turned  in  just  after  you  left  for  the  boule 
vards.  —  If  you  care  to  cross  the  hall  and  take  a 
look  at  my  room,  you'll  find  I've  told  the  truth.  - 
But  I  just  couldn't  sleep.  I  believed  more  and 
more  that  we'd  been  told  a  pretty  pack  of  lies 
by  the  ambassador,  and  it  was  impossible  for  me 
to  rest  before  I  had  proved  it." 

"And  so  — " 

"  And  so  I  robbed  the  embassy." 

I  dropped  my  cigarette :      '  You  robbed  - 

'  Tried  to,  at  any  rate.  The  crime  is  in  the 
intent,  you  know  —  and  this  was  at  least  felonious 
entry. ' ' 

"  But  why—  ?" 

"  Because  I  had  an  idea  that  if  the  truth  were 
anywhere  —  and  I  begin  now  to  doubt  that  it  is  — 
then  the  Baron's  secret  papers  would  be  the  place 
to  seek  it." 

"  And  you  actually  robbed  the  house?  " 

Frances's  voice  became  petulant. 

"  See  here,  Sammy,"  she  demurred,  "  do  you 
want  to  hear  this  story,  or  don't  you?  If  you 
don't,  I  shall  not  tell  it;  but  if  you  do,  you  must 
not  interrupt  me  again." 

I  threw  up  my  hands  in  token  of  surrender  and 
she  continued : 

"  It's  not  the  first  work  of  this  sort  that  I  have 


The  Raid  on  the  Embassy  149 

had  to  try,  and,  against  just  such  sort  of  circum 
stances,  I  always  carry  a  more  or  less  complete 
set  of  burglar's  tools  as  a  regular  part  of  my 
travelling-kit.  That  you  perhaps  did  not  know. 
You  do  know,  however,  that  I  have  also  with  me 
on  my  little  trips  a  comfortable  Norfolk  jacket 
and  knickerbockers.  These  I  put  on  this  evening. 
Then  I  got  your  raincoat  over  them,  and  left  the 
hotel  with  the  tools  in  the  coat-pocket. 

"  As  soon  as  I  got  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
embassy,  I  chucked  the  coat  into  a  dark  corner 
and  began  to  look  over  the  ground.  First  of  all, 
of  course,  I  made  for  the  window  that  Czibulka 
broke  this  evening;  it  was,  just  as  I  had  expected, 
covered  only  by  light  boards,  but  it  was  too  ex 
posed,  so  I  gave  up  that  line  of  attack  without  any 
more  delay  and  began  to  inspect  the  burglar 
alarms,  only  to  find  that  the  house  was  thor 
oughly  wired. 

"  That  was  annoying,  of  course,  but  it  was 
hardly  to  be  considered  a  final  set-back,  for  I 
turned  my  attention  at  once  to  the  house  next 
door  and  found  that  there,  at  least,  the  inhabit 
ants  weren't  so  horribly  suspicious  of  mankind  - 
or,"  she  smiled,  "  womankind.  This  place  was, 
in  fact,  free  from  any  wiring  whatever,  and  I 
made  an  entry  easily  enough  by  picking  the  crude 
lock  to  a  basement  door.  From  there  it  was  no 


150  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

trouble  to  make  my  way  to  the  roof  and,  as  this 
roof  was  only  about  four  feet  higher  than  that  of 
the  embassy,  I  was  soon  tiptoeing  through  the 
darkness  over  our  unsuspecting  Baron's  head. 

"  It  didn't  take  me  very  long  to  find  what  I 
was  after :  the  wire  that  must  connect  the  embassy 
with  the  police-station,  or  whatever  corresponds 
to  a  police-station  in  this  benighted  city,  came  up 
by  the  cluster  of  chimney-pots,  and  I  first  clipped 
it  completely  and  then,  just  not  to  overlook  any 
bets,  I  snipped  the  telephone  wires  as  well.  A 
few  minutes  more  and  I  had  stumbled  over  a 
trap-door  that  wasn't  wired,  fortunately,  and  so 
got  to  the  loft  and,  at  last,  to  the  stairway. 

"  It  was  pitch  black  and  I  didn't  dare  to  use 
my  light,  but,  once  I  had  got  my  shoes  off  and 
slung  them,  by  the  strings,  over  my  shoulder,  I 
didn't  much  care,  for  I  knew  that  all  these  older 
French  houses  are  built  on  the  same  plan  and, 
if  I  could  only  reach  the  ground  floor  without 
spilling  myself  noisily,  I  was  sure  of  being  able 
to  walk  directly  to  the  ambassador's  office  where 
we  had  our  little  conversation  with  him  a  few  hours 
before. 

"  I  did  it,  too.  Oh,  there  was  an  adventure  or 
so  on  the  way !  Once  I  encountered  a  sudden  turn 
in  the  stairs,  and  the  steps,  naturally,  creaked 
frightfully,  but  I  stopped  for  a  good  five  minutes 


The  Raid  on  the  Embassy  151 

after  every  sound  and,  considering  that  I  am  rather 
an  amateur  at  burglary,  I  think  I  made  a  pretty 
successful  journey. 

"  Inside  the  office  everything  was  precisely  as 
we  last  saw  it.  I  had  noticed,  during  my  former 
call,  that  the  safe  was  a  miserably  old-fashioned 
affair  and  now,  as  soon  as  I  got  my  electric  glow 
on  it,  I  found  that  the  lock  was  a  mere  common 
place  contrivance  that  would  hardly  stop  a  child. 
It  was  so  old  that  anybody  with  a  well-trained 
ear  couldn't  have  helped  but  hear  the  catches 
fall,  and  in  not  a  second  more  than  fifteen  minutes, 
I  had  the  door  open  and  was  going  through  the 
private  papers  of  the  Baron  de  Hetzendorf. 

"  But  I  didn't  learn  much.  Many  of  them  were 
entirely  personal  —  even  intimate  —  in  fact,  I 
unearthed  enough  to  get  the  Baroness  (if  there 
is  a  Baroness)  three  or  four  divorces;  but  that 
was  not  exactly  what  I  was  after.  Then  again  a 
lot  were  in  cipher,  and  there  wasn't  time  to 
bother  with  prize  puzzles.  What  was  then  left 
seemed  to  be  the  sort  of  thing  that  would  be  of  no 
end  of  interest  to  diplomats  in  general,  but  about 
our  particular  little  murder-party,  there  was  not 
a  scratch  that  came  under  my  eyes,  though  I 
searched  everywhere,  until  — 

'  Well,  until  I  heard  a  slight  sound  on  the 
stairs. 


152  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"  Sammy,  I  think  you  know  that  I  am  not  of  a 
nervous  temperament  —  I've  outgrown  it  —  but, 
upon  my  word,  as  I  knelt  there  in  that  silent  room, 
with  a  glow-light  in  one  hand  and  a  revolver  in 
the  other,  an  open  safe  in  front  of  me  and  a  heap 
of  papers  at  my  feet  —  as  I  knelt  there  and  heard 
that  sudden  creak  out  of  the  blackness  beyond  the 
frail  room-door  —  the  blackness  full  of  enemies, 
who  wouldn't  hesitate  a  moment  about  what 
was  the  correct  way  to  deal  with  an  intruder  like 
me  —  as  I  knelt  there,  I  tell  you,  Sammy,  I 
shook  like  a  sweet  girl  graduate. 

"  Then  I  snapped  out  my  light  and  listened. 
For  some  time  —  or,  surely,  for  quite  a  dozen 
booming  heart-beats !  —  the  stillness  ached  along 
unbroken.  But  it  didn't  fool  me,  because  I  am 
something  of  a  connoisseur  in  the  various  brands 
of  silence  and  I  knew  immediately  that,  as  the 
former  had  been  the  sleeping,  so  this  was  the  wide 
awake  kind.  I  can't  tell  you  just  what  it  is  that 
makes  the  difference,  but  a  real  difference  there 
is,  and  this  time  I  knew  it  at  once:  out  there  in 
the  house  somebody  was  sneaking  down  the 
stairs  the  foot  of  which  was  just  outside  that 
door. 

"  I  couldn't  have  hesitated  long  after  that.  It 
took  me  almost  no  time  at  all  to  bundle  up  those 
papers  and  slam  them  into  the  safe  —  and  just 


The  Raid  on  the  Embassy  153 

as  I  was  going  to  close  the  door,  I  heard  that 
sound  again. 

"  Well,  it  was  better  anyhow,  for  a  safe-door 
that  is  just  swung  to  may  be  the  result  of  care 
lessness,  and  may  even  go  unnoticed  for  hours, 
but  the  safe-door  that  closes  with  a  snap  in  the 
dead  of  night  is  apt  to  send  out  something  of  a 
sound.  Anyhow,  what  I  did  was  to  swing  to  that 
piece  of  iron  and  make  a  hop-skip-and-jump  to 
the  very  curtain  that  had  so  conveniently  shel 
tered  our  Czeck  friend  during  a  part  of  our  call 
on  the  ambassador. 

"  It  wasn't  an  original  procedure,  I  grant  you 
that,  Sammy,  but  it  seemed  the  only  course  left 
me.  The  other  windows  aren't  so  well  curtained 
and  the  door  would  have  been  just  where  I  should 
have  met  whomever  —  or  whatever  —  it  was  that 
was  on  the  stairs.  Anyhow,  I  did  it — -and  I 
wasn't  a  quarter  of  a  second  too  soon:  my  head 
was  still  out  of  the  curtain  when  the  step  outside 
came  again,  quite  plainly  this  time,  and  halted 
just  before  the  office.  Then  the  door  creaked 
slowly  on  its  hinges ;  it  opened,  and  a  shadow  - 
a  kind  of  double  blackness  —  slipped  into  the 
room  and  across  it.  I  held  my  breath,  but  kept 
my  eyes  staring:  I  saw  the  shadow  stop  before 
the  safe ;  I  saw  a  spot-light  flare  up  and  show  the 
lock  —  and  in  that  streak  of  light  I  saw  the  man. 


154  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"  It  was  Czibulka. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  the  gypsy  was  angry  or 
not.  He  had  a  right  to  be,  at  any  rate,  for  he  had 
found  that  safe  open  and  he  evidently  thought 
that  he  was  face  to  face  with  the  proof  of  some 
gross  carelessness  on  the  part  of  whatever  clerk 
whose  duty  it  is  to  set  that  room  in  order  when  it 
is  closed  for  the  night.  But  in  any  case,  our  friend 
didn't  waste  time  in  scolding  clerks  that  were 
doubtless  abed :  he  had  clearly  come  there  to  rob 
the  place  himself,  and  he  at  once  set  about  his 
business. 

"  He  set  about  it  too  quickly  altogether.  I 
saw  that  at  once.  The  hurried  way  in  which  he 
fumbled  among  those  papers  and  tossed  and  tum 
bled  them  made  me  sure  that  something  was  soon 
bound  to  happen  —  and  soon  something  did. 

"  His  trembling  hands  picked  up  a  tin  dispatch- 
box  and  let  it  fall  crashing  to  the  hard  wood  floor. 

"  He  snapped  out  his  light  immediately,  and 
there  was  a  long,  horrid  pause. 

"  Just  fancy  it,  Sammy.  There  we  were:  two 
thieves,  a  spy  spying  upon  a  spy,  in  a  pitch  black 
room,  the  house  full  of  dangers,  and  the  sudden 
alarm  still  ringing  in  loud  overtones  in  our  ears. 

"  I  was  pressed  tight  back  behind  my  curtains. 
My  own  breath  was  altogether  suspended,  but  I 
could  hear  Czibulka's,  coming  out  of  the  midnight 


The  Raid  on  the  Embassy  155 

obscurity,  several  feet  away,  where  he  must  have 
been  crouching  like  a  wild  beast  in  some  sort  of 
fierce  panic.     I  don't  know  how  he  stood  it;   I'm 
sure  that  I  couldn't  have  stood  it  much  longer  - 
I  should  have  shrieked  like  any  ordinary  woman  - 
but  at  last,  at  the  instant  when  the  agony  climbed 
up  to  my  throat  and  tore  at  it,  the  end  came  like 
a  lightning-stroke. 

"  Without  a  single  warning-sound  from  outside, 
the  room  was  flooded  with  light,  and,  there,  in 
the  open  doorway,  stood  the  ambassador,  fully 
dressed,  his  revolver  levelled  at  the  terrified 
Czibulka's  head. 

"  It  was  a  tableau  well  worth  risking  a  good  deal 
to  see.  The  old  Baron  is  the  genuine  thing,  and 
there's  no  mistake  about  that,  for  there  he  was 
with  death  in  his  hand  and  death  threatening 
him,  and  not  a  line  of  his  old  eagle-face  showed 
even  a  twitch  of  surprise.  Just  a  yard  or  two  away 
was  Czibulka,  half  risen,  his  eyes  wide  with 
fright,  his  own  gun  clutched  in  a  spasmodic  grip, 
but  clutched  a  second  too  late.  It  was  quite  a 
breathing-spell  before  I  realized  that  my  head 
must  be  half  way  out  between  those  curtains,  and 
it  was  even  an  instant  later  that  I  got  it  back 
into  safe  hiding  again. 

"  An  interminable  time  seemed  to  pass  before 
anyone  uttered  a  word.  Then  I  heard  the  am- 


156  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

bassador,  talking  in  his  best  and  most  dignified 
French,  say: 

"  '  Put  down  your  weapon,  my  friend.' 

"  Czibulka's  revolver  clattered  to  the  floor  as  if 
it  were  the  very  echo  of  the  Baron's  command. 

"  '  I  suppose,'  the  Baron  went  on,  after  another 
long  pause,  in  which  I  knew  that  he  was  boring 
holes  through  the  little  man  of  the  scar,  '  I  sup 
pose  that  the  proper  guard  of  this  room  is  in  your 
pay.  At  all  events,  I  do  not  care  to  risk  an 
interruption,  so  I  shall  be  obliged  to  take  your 
weapon  and  lock  the  door.' 

"  I  heard  him  do  this,  and  then  I  heard  him, 
still  in  French,  continue: 

"  '  Now,  sir,  what  have  you  to  say  for  your 
self?  ' 

"  Czibulka  must  have  squirmed  physically. 
He  surely  squirmed  intellectually,  for  he  jabbered 
out  appeals  and  contradictions  so  fast  that  I 
couldn't  follow  him  at  all,  especially  as  part  of 
them  were  in  bad  German  and  the  rest,  I  imagine, 
in  Czeck.  But  the  ambassador  was  as  hard  as 
nails. 

"'  It  is  of  no  use,  sir,'  he  declared;  '  you  may 
take  my  word  for  that.  Moreover,  I  have  but  to 
press  this  button  either  to  waken  the  servants  or 
to  turn  you  over  to  the  gendarmes.  One  or 
other  of  these  things  I  shall  certainly  do  ira- 


The  Raid  on  the  Embassy  157 

mediately,  unless  you  make  a  full  confession  to 
me.  Come ! ' 

"  That  fetched  Czibulka.  He  gave  up  his 
whole  soul  —  and,  as  the  Baron  had  stuck  to 
the  language  of  diplomacy,  Bolfras  Czibulka 
also  adopted  it,  and  I  understood  every  word. 

:<  It  seems  that  the  gypsy  has,  as  I  hinted  this 
afternoon,  been  playing  a  double  game.  '  The 
other  side,'  as  he  calls  them  —  and  by  that  I 
suppose  he  means  the  Countess,  the  Colonel  and 
their  allies  —  suppose  him  to  be  with  them, 
whereas  he  has  all  along  been  hunting  with  the 
hounds  and  running  with  the  hares,  in  order  to 
sell  out  at  the  last  moment  to  whichever  party 
would  bid  the  higher  figure,  or  seemed  the  more 
likely  to  win. 

"  He  admitted  that  he  had  told  the  Countess, 
as  soon  as  he  himself  had  been  informed  of  it, 
all  about  what  he  characterized  as  '  the  murder 
at  Mountville.'  Then  he  said  that  he  had  fallen 
ill,  just  as  the  Baron  told  us.  That,  of  course, 
changed  the  date  of  the  killing,  but,  also,  of  course, 
prohibited  Czibulka  from  telling  the  Countess  of 
the  postponement.  There  you  have  the  explana 
tion  of  her  curious  call  on  me,  and  her  fore 
knowledge  of  the  crime,  of  course,  being  afraid 
herself  to  go  to  the  scene  of  the  murder  to  recover 
the  papers  when  she  fancied  the  place  would  be 


158  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

under  the  eye  of  the  police,  who  would  have  been 
brought  there  by  the  assassination. 

"  So  far,  so  good.  But  then  followed  a  dialogue 
of  which  I  don't  even  now,  after  thinking  on  it 
ever  since,  seem  able  to  grasp  the  true  inwardness. 
As  soon  as  I  saw  that  it  touched  another  mystery, 
I  tried  to  remember  every  single  word  of  it,  and 
I  think  that  it  ran  thus : 

"  '  How  did  it  happen,'  asked  the  Baron,  '  that 
you  did  not,  in  the  first  place,  let  them  know  of 
the  plan  in  time  to  prevent  the  killing? ' 

"  '  Because,'  said  Czibulka,  —  and  he  was 
almost  sobbing  now  —  the  disgusting,  little  pig! 

'  because  I  was  not  told  of  it  until  the  last 
moment.  I  did  know,  however,  that  the  Countess 
was  on  her  way  to  Mountville,  and  so  got  into 
touch  with  her  at  the  earliest  possible  time  — 
which  was  when  she  was  at  her  Philadelphia 
hotel.  I  thought  then  that  by  the  time  she  heard 
from  me  it  would  be  all  over,  and  that  I  should 
still  be  keeping  faith  with  her  by  telling  her  so. 
To  add  colour  to  my  appearance  of  loyalty  to 
"  the  other  side,"  I  told  her  to  look  up  this  Baird 
woman,  of  whom  I  had  heard  in  Washington, 
and  to  commission  her  to  recover  the  proofs  of 
.the  dead  man's  identity.  These,  I  pointed  out, 
we  knew  were  in  a  certain  dispatch-box  and 
would  be  at  least  some  sort  of  weapon,  even  if 


The  Raid  on  the  Embassy  159 

not  so  good  as  the  man  himself  —  though  all  the 
while  I  felt  sure  that  our  agent  would  have  made 
away  with  them. ' 

'"And  then?' 

'  Then  I  was  delayed,  and  got  to  the  farm  a 
day  late,  and  everything  went  wrong.  I  reached 
the  house  while  the  two  were  on  their  way  to 
the  post-office,  but  they  came  back  much  sooner 
than  I  had  expected  —  just  as  I  told  you  before : 
The  Prince  wanted  to  go  up-stairs  —  I  heard  him 
say  so.  There  was  a  scuffle  —  and  he  killed  our 
man.' 

'  You  must  have  chosen  a  weakling.' 
'  I  do  not  think  so,  monsieur.  Besides,  I 
did  not  choose  him;  the  chief  did  that:  I  never 
saw  him  until  I  ran  down  the  stairs  and  found 
him  dead,  with  the  Prince  standing  over  him  and 
denouncing  me.  -  -  They  both  looked  strong 
enough  then,  but  the  Prince  had  the  double 
strength  of  madness.' 

'  He  always  had,  you  remember.' 

"  '  I  had  never  set  eyes  on  him.  I  had  been  in 
school  in  England  from  my  fifth  year  until  - 

"  '  Exactly.  — Go  on  with  your  story.' 

"  '  There  was  only  one  safe  course  for  me,  and 
that  I  had  to  take  quickly.  With  much  cajoling, 
however,  I  succeeded  with  it:  I  convinced  this 
lunatic  that  I  was  his  friend,  not  the  friend  of  the 


160  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

dead  man;  I  wired  the  news  to  the  Countess's 
New  York  hotel ;  I  saw  him  safe  to  Philadelphia, 
where  she  met  us,  and  then  I  returned  to  Wash 
ington  and  made  my  report  to  our  Government.' 

Your  false  report,'  corrected  the  Baron. 
'  It   was   false,    monsieur,  in  only  one  par 
ticular.' 

Hum.  —  Yes :  the  rather  important  par 
ticular  that  the  Prince  was  handed  over  by  you 
to  our  enemies,  instead  of  escaping  from  you,  as 
you  had  informed  us. --Well,  I  suppose  you 
know  what  you  deserve.' 

"  Czibulka  acknowledged  that  he  did  know 
what  he  deserved,  and  the  Baron  promptly 
assured  him  that  he  would  get  it.  Then  the  Czeck 
threw  another  fit,  and  the  ambassador  told  him 
that  the  only  way  of  gaining  a  pardon  was  for 
the  little  fellow,  to-morrow  midnight,  to  turn 
over  to  the  embassy's  forces  the  man  they  had 
been  calling  the  Prince,  and  to  turn  over  the 
Prince's  present  keepers  along  with  him. 

'  Well,  Czibulka  said  this  was  impossible. 
He  said  that  he  had  never  known  the  Paris 
address  of  the  Countess  and  her  allies.  The 
original  arrangement  that  he  had  made  in 
parting  with  her  and  the  Prince  in  Philadelphia 
was  that  he  should  meet  her  at  ten  o'clock 
to-morrow  evening  at  L'Abbaye,  in  the  Place 


The  Raid  on  the  Embassy  161 

Pigalle,  and  that  she  was  at  that  time  to  give  to 
him  the  address  of  their  Moscow  headquarters, 
because,  during  the  day  preceding  (which,  I 
take  it,  meant  sometime  during  the  day  that  is 
now  looking  in  at  these  windows)  the  Colonel 
was  to  start  with  his  mad  ward  for  Russia. 

"  But  I  had  to  conclude  that  the  Baron 
wouldn't  be  a  pleasant  man  to  work  for;  he  has 
not  any  slightest  use  for  excuses.  He  just  told 
Czibulka  that  the  latter  could  easily  do  the  trick, 
because,  next  evening,  the  gang  would  either 
be  in  the  city  or  else  have  fallen  already  into  the 
hands  of  the  embassy's  forces.  This,  he  said, 
was  so,  because  all  the  railways  are  watched 
and  the  octroi  so  packed  with  his  agents  that 
escape  from  Paris  would  be  entirely  out  of  the 
question. 

"  '  Come,  now,'  he  said,  '  this  is  my  bargain: 
if  we  catch  them  by  our  means,  you  are  to  pay 
with  your  life;  if  they  have  reason  to  fear 
that  we  are  watching,  and  if  they,  therefore, 
remain  in  Paris,  then  you  get  their  address  from 
the  Countess  to-morrow  evening,  and  so  save 
yourself  —  on  condition,  my  friend,  that  you 
return  immediately  to  the  United  States  and 
give  to  that  country  the  benefit  of  your  citizen 
ship  for  ever! ' 

"  Czibulka  tried   hard  to  get  out  of  it;    he 


162  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

endeavoured  to  show  that  the  chances  were  too 
heavily  in  favour  of  an  attempted  escape  by 
rail  or  motor,  but  the  Baron  only  laughed. 

'  It  is  a  better  chance  than  you  are  entitled 
to,'  he  said  —  and  I  most  certainly  agree  with 
him !  —  'As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  better  than 
you  guess,  for,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  my  man, 
Schram  Revicta,  telephoned  me  that  he  had  come 
across  the  Countess's  trail  only  to  be  detected 
and  thrown  off  by  the  young  newspaper  re 
porter  that  was  here  this  afternoon,  and  who, 
of  course,  has  told  her  of  what  I  foolishly  let 
out  about  the  guarded  railways.  —  Now  then, 
are  you  willing  to  take  your  chance?  ' 

'  That  about  ends  my  story.  Czibulka 
grovelled  a  bit  and  swore  fidelity  —  to  which 
the  ambassador  replied  that  treachery  would  be 
quite  impossible,  because  he  would  be  shadowed 
from  that  moment  forward,  only  to  be  killed 
at  the  first  token  of  revolt,  and  that,  to  begin 
with,  he  must  be  placed  at  once  under  guard. 
And  then  —  well,  then  they  got  out  of  the  room 
and  I  forced  the  boards  of  that  window  and  made 
tracks  for  this  hotel." 


CHAPTER   XIV 

CAUGHT    IN    THE    NET 

"  Boast  not  thyself  of  to-morrow;  for  thou  knowest 
not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth." 

FRANCES  ended  her  story  with  a  long  sigh. 

"  There,"  she  declared,  "  you  have  it  all  and, 
before  you  say  what  you  make  of  it,  you  may  as 
well  tell  me  how  you  happened  to  meet  up  with 
the  Countess  and  what  trouble  you've  got  into." 

I  obeyed  as  well  as  I  could,  and  then  we  sat 
on  until  the  cold,  Parisian  dawn  shivered  through 
the  windows,  threshing  over  together  all  the 
developments  of  the  preceding  night. 

What  was  the  truth  ?  How  much  of  it  had  we 
been  told  and  how  much  that  had  been  said  to 
us  had  been  but  diplomatic  falsehood?  Who 
was  this  Prince  about  whom  so  strange  and  so 
silent  a  battle  was  raging  in  this  centre  of  a 
peaceful  civilization?  What  cause  was  at  stake 
that  could  force  so  beautiful  a  woman  as  the 
Countess  Routkovsky  to  such  bloody  adventures, 
and  impel  so  exalted  a  personage  as  the  Austrian 
ambassador  to  such  desperate  extremities?  One 

163 


164  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

thing  alone  seemed  certain:  that  the  farther  we 
proceeded  into  the  labyrinth,  the  more  hazardous 
appeared  our  journey  and  the  smaller  our  hope 
of  a  safe  return. 

Through  it  all,  however,  even  when  the  cir 
cumstances  surrounding  her  actions  almost  com 
pelled  suspicion,  I  stood  out  for  the  Countess. 
No  argument,  I  declared,  would,  either  then  or 
in  the  future,  convince  me  of  any  criminality 
upon  her  part,  and  no  bribe  would  re-enlist  me 
against  her.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  offer 
my  sword  to  her  service,  and  I  gave  formal 
notice  that,  upon  the  morrow  evening,  I  should 
be  found  openly  under  her  flag. 

It  was  some  comfort  to  find  that  Frances  was, 
upon  the  whole,  inclined  to  agree  with  my  con 
victions.  She  was,  of  course,  first  of  all  a  de 
tective  searching,  with  as  little  bias  as  possible, 
for  the  truth,  but  she  was  also  a  woman  that  had 
been  tricked  by  the  ambassador  and  one  that  had 
all  of  a  woman's  hatred  for  the  man  that  had 
deceived  her.  Her  attitude  was  now,  in  short, 
that  she  inclined  to  my  view  of  the  case  and  that, 
while  reserving  a  final  judgment,  she  proposed 
to  work  constantly  ahead  in  the  hope  of  un 
covering  something  that  should  prove  at  least 
disconcerting  to  the  Baron.  In  the  end,  when  I 
gave  feeble  expression  to  the  fever  of  distress 


Caught  in  the  Net  165 

in  which  I  writhed  at  the  thought  of  the  dungeon- 
walls  closing  in  upon  the  Countess,  she  had  also 
the  good  sense  to  point  out  that  all  I  could  do 
now  was  to  get  myself  into  as  good  shape  as 
possible  for  the  hidden  difficulties  that  lay  before 
me  and  that  the  best  way  to  begin  such  a  task 
was  at  once  to  get  to  sleep. 

When  we  met  again  at  the  breakfast  table, 
which  we  reached  at  four  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon,  Frances  was  even  more  ready. 

"  Czibulka,"  she  began,  "is  to  meet  the 
Countess  Stephanie  at  L'Abbaye  at  ten  this 
evening.  Your  appointment  was  for  an  hour 
later.  Very  well,  the  proper  course  for  you  to 
pursue  is  to  go  early  to  the  Place  Pigalle,  to  stop 
the  Countess  as  she  enters  —  before  Bolfras  can 
possibly  get  a  word  alone  with  her  —  and  then 
you  must  warn  her  of  Czibulka's  treachery." 

"  And  you?  "  I  asked.  '  What  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"  I  shall  stay  here,  waiting  close  to  the  'phone. 
You  will  have  some  trouble,  I'm  afraid,  in  con 
vincing  the  Countess  of  my  good  intentions, 
but,  just  as  soon  as  you  have  succeeded,  call  me 
up  and  then  we  must  all  three  get  together  and 
see  what  can  be  done  to  help  her.  In  the  mean 
time,  in  order  that  you  may  provide  against  the 
unlikely  contingency  of  a  battle  of  wits  with  our 


166  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

friend  the  Judas,  I  hold,  literally,  one  last  card 
against  him,  which,  if  you  don't  mind,  I  shall 
now  instruct  you  how  to  play." 

To  those  concluding  instructions  I  listened 
with  both  ears  alert,  and,  when  we  finally  parted, 
it  was  with  refreshed  confidence.  I  could  even 
walk  up  to  the  Louvre  with  some  mind  for  what 
I  could  see  on  the  way  and,  returning,  eat  with 
some  show  of  enjoyment  a  little  supper  at  the 
Caf6  de  Paris.  In  fact,  I  managed  to  put  in  a 
few  not  unpleasant  hours  on  this  second  day  in 
the  City  of  Gayety  and  at  last,  at  a  quarter  after 
nine,  got  into  a  cab  by  the  Halles  aux  Vins 
feeling  fairly  comfortable  and  quite  ready  to 
begin  my  expedition  in  behalf  of  the  Countess. 

But  then  the  troubles  of  the  night  began.  My 
driver  had  seemed  to  have  some  difficulty  in 
comprehending  my  instructions;  he  had  started 
out  at  a  pace  that  would  have  shamed  an  Ala 
bama  accommodation  train,  and  it  shortly  began 
to  appear  that,  if  he  were  heading  at  all  for 
Montmartre,  he  was  at  any  rate  making  his  way 
thither  only  by  the  most  roundabout  course 
conceivable.  Twice  he  stopped,  descended  from 
his  box  and,  poking  his  thick  head  and  red  face 
in  at  the  window,  asked  me  again  where  it  was 
that  I  desired  to  be  driven.  Twice  more  he 
stopped  and  exchanged  befuddled  question  and 


Caught  in  the  Net  167 

answer  with  solitary  pedestrians  along  the  dark 
and  narrow  streets,  which  we  were  now  so  slowly 
traversing.  And,  at  last,  on  a  steep  incline,  he 
came  to  a  full  stop. 

We  alighted,  I  think,  simultaneously,  for  I 
was  now  almost  mad  with  my  anxiety  and,  to 
my  annoyance,  the  driver,  I  at  once  observed, 
was  mad  with  drink. 

"  Get  inside  this  cab!  "  I  shouted  in  the  best 
French  that  my  anger  would  permit  me.  "  Get 
inside,  I  tell  you,  and  let  me  take  the  reins! 
I've  hired  you  and  I  mean  to  get  to  my  destina 
tion  in  decent  time!  " 

For  answer  he  swayed  uncertainly  before  me 
for  an  instant  and  then,  with  the  bellow  of  a 
great  bull,  he  plunged  forward  upon  me.  I 
caught  him  on  the  chin,  but  he  was  a  mite  too 
quick  for  me  and  my  blow  landed  a  little  too 
far  from  the  point  to  be  wholly  effective.  He 
reeled,  but,  as  if  the  shock  had  driven  the  fumes 
of  brandy  from  his  head,  he  turned  abruptly 
and  I  saw  his  great,  wooden  sabot  flash  in  the 
air. 

But  I  was  not  twice  to  be  caught  by  the  same 
trick.  Not  dexterously,  perhaps,  but  at  least 
with  result,  I  ducked,  grabbed  the  fellow's  foot 
in  both  hands,  swung  it  to  my  shoulder  and 
dumped  its  owner  into  the  gutter  just  as  there  was 


168  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

a  clatter  of  arms  from  out  of  the  darkness  above 
us  and  a  party  of  three  agents  de  la  police 
descended  in  the  name  of  the  Republic  and  the 
Law. 

I  have  been  arrested  more  than  once  in  my 
time  and,  unless  some  miracle  should  remake 
what  we  know  as  human  justice,  I  hope  again 
to  be  arrested  before  death  ends  all  my  chances. 
But  I  don't  especially  care  ever  to  be  restrained 
in  circumstances  quite  so  disquieting.  My 
drunken  driver  had  wasted  no  end  of  precious 
minutes ;  my  present  approaching  captors  would 
be  likely  to  hold  me  a  prisoner  in  all  events  un 
til  after  ten  o'clock,  and,  all  the  while,  from 
some  unknown  house  in  that  city,  the  Countess 
Stephanie  was  making  her  way  toward  the  trap 
in  the  Place  Pigalle. 

It  was  no  moment  for  amenities.  I  leaped 
nimbly  away  from  the  outstretched  hand  of  the 
headmost  gendarme;  doubled;  tripped  the 
second;  caught  the  third  under  his  Gallic  ear, 
and  made  off  up  the  street  and  into  the  pro 
tecting  darkness. 

For  half  a  minute  I  could  hear  nothing  but 
my  own  foot-falls  pounding  on  the  stones.  Then 
there  were  yells  —  or  rather  shrieks  —  from  my 
new  enemies,  and  then  came  the  rush  of  pursuit. 
Blindly  I  turned  off  at  the  first  corner,  rounded 


Caught  in  the  Net  169 

another,  came  panting  into  a  more  busy 
thoroughfare  and,  by  good  luck,  found  myself 
almost  dashing  into  a  taximetre  that  displayed 
the  welcome  sign:  "  Libre." 

"  Place  Pigalle  !  L'Abbaye  !  Vite  /  "  I  managed 
barely  to  gasp,  and  instantly  the  automobile 
was  moving,  at  a  goodly  pace,  away  from  the 
danger  that  I  feared  and  toward  the  peril  that  I 
courted. 

But  I  had  lost  much  valuable  time.  As  we 
rolled  into  the  Place  Pigalle,  I  looked  for  the  first 
time  at  my  watch:  it  was  two  minutes  after 
ten. 

I  paid  my  cabman  and,  on  the  curb,  stood 
hesitant.  Should  I  wait  outside  of  Albert's 
on  the  chance  that  the  Countess  might  be  late? 
If  I  entered,  I  should  be  sure  to  find  Czibulka, 
because  it  is  certain  that  a  man  with  his  life  at 
stake  will  take  care  to  be  prompt.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  the  Countess  had  already  arrived, 
the  least  delay  on  my  part  might  prove  fatal. 
I  resolved  to  go  in  at  once  and  play  whatever 
game  seemed  best. 

It  was  still  an  early  hour  for  L'Abbaye.  The 
red-coated  band  had  but  just  begun  its  evening 
concert;  half  the  waiters  stood  somnolent, 
oblivious  statues  about  the  brilliant  green  and 
white  room;  and  scarce  a  dozen  tables  were 


170  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

taken.  But  the  good  goddess  had  not  altogether 
forsaken  me :  at  the  place  where  I  had  come  upon 
the  Countess  the  night  before,  her  back  to  the 
same  low  partition  over  which  my  view  on  the 
preceding  evening  had  been  obscured  by  her 
large,  black  hat,  she  was  now  just  in  the  act  of 
seating  herself  beside  the  waiting  Czibulka. 

I  was  still  in  time !  She  had  but  by  one  moment 
preceded  me.  The  traitor  could  not  yet  have 
learned  her  address,  and,  since  it  was  impossible 
for  me  to  forewarn  her,  I  might  yet  play  Frances's 
last  card. 

With  all  the  smiling  unconcern  that  I  could 
muster,  I  greeted  them  both. 

"  Mademoiselle  la  Comtesse,"  said  I  bowing, 
and  then,  as  if  just  catching  sight  of  her  com 
panion:  "Ah,  and  Monsieur  Czibulka  also? 
This  is  indeed  charming!  I  had  no  idea  that  my 
two  friends  were  acquainted." 

Czibulka  was  frankly  annoyed,  as,  of  course, 
who  would  not  be  in  his  place  ?  And  the  Count 
ess,  I  am  bound  to  say,  was  quite  as  frankly 
surprised. 

"  I  had  scarcely  expected  you  so  soon,  Mr. 
Burton,"  she  said  to  me  in  a  tone  of  restrained 
annoyance,  her  eyebrows  raised  in  something 
not  unlike  a  cold  displeasure. 

"  And  I,"  growled  Czibulka,  trying  hard  to 


Caught  in  the  Net  171 

smile  and  not  succeeding  except  so  far  as  to 
display  his  teeth,  "  I  had  not  expected  you  at 
all." 

They  had  neither  of  them  asked  me  to  join 
them,  but  I  overlooked  the  absence  of  an  invita 
tion  and  sat  down  anyhow. 

"  All  the  better,"  I  laughed.  "  These  little 
fetes  are  never  so  pleasant  as  when  impromptu. 
Permit  me  to  call  a  waiter." 

I  did  it,  too.  Mademoiselle  grew  more  and  more 
haughty  and  Czibulka  more  and  more  nervous, 
but  I  played  to  its  end  the  unsympathetic  r61e 
of  the  fool  that  doesn't  have  the  merest  notion 
that  he  is  the  third  person  who  is  making  a 
crowd.  I  ordered  the  supper  and  the  wine,  and 
made  them  eat  and  drink;  I  filled  their  silences 
with  inane  chatter;  I  was  totally  blind  to  their 
anger  and  stone  deaf  to  their  innuendoes. 

But,  in  the  end,  it  was  the  Countess  that  won. 
Implicitly  confident  that  Czibulka  was  her  ally 
and  not  ready  to  take  me  into  her  confidence,  she 
remained  resolved  upon  getting  rid  of  me  in 
order  to  have  her  appointed  talk  with  the  traitor, 
and,  at  last,  when  every  other  means  had  been 
exhausted,  she  began  an  outrageous  flirtation 
with  the  fellow,  who,  noticing  that  she  had  found 
the  flaw  in  my  armour  and  absurdly  flattered 
even  by  the  attention  of  the  woman  he  was 


172  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

about  to  betray,  turned  upon  me  with  his  ugliest 
frown. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said,  "  this  farce  has  pro 
ceeded  far  enough.  The  hour  grows  late,  and 
mademoiselle  has  a  word  or  two  to  say  to  me  in 
private." 

My  fingers  closed  tight  about  the  stem  of  my 
wine-glass  and  I  felt  receding  from  my  cheeks 
all  the  blood  that  Stephanie's  ruse  had  sent 
there.  But  I  was  still  sane  enough  to  conquer 
my  anger  and  to  realize  that  my  only  hope  and 
hers  lay  in  the  retention  of  my  calm. 

"  A  thousand  pardons!  "  I  exclaimed,  still 
true  —  though  by  what  an  effort !  —  to  my 
clownish  r61e.  "  I  had  no  idea  that  I  was  in 
truding  !  "  —  And  I  rose  to  my  feet. 

Czibulka's  hard  face  cracked  into  a  grin  that 
I  am  sure  was  meant  to  express  genuine  good 
nature. 

"  Oh,  not  an  intrusion,  Mr.  Burton!  "  he  pro 
tested.  "  It  has  been  a  most  merry  evening  —  " 
'  Very  merry,"  murmured  Stephanie  politely. 

"  But,"  continued  her  companion,  "  I  have 
indeed  that  little  word  or  so  to  say,  and  if 
monsieur  will  but  do  me  the  honour  to  be  my 
guest  here,  with  mademoiselle,  to-morrow  eve 
ning - 

"  With    pleasure,"    I    interrupted.      "  And    I 


Caught  in  the  Net  173 

now  go."   —  I  fumbled  in  my  waistcoat  pocket.  - 
"  My  hotel  address  is  written  there,"  I  said,  and 
held  out  to  him  a  card. 

Still  grinning  with  pride  at  the  triumph  of 
what  he  must  have  considered  his  masterful 
diplomacy,  Czibulka  graciously  held  out  his  left 
hand  and  took  the  bit  of  cardboard  between  his 
thumb  and  his  forefinger. 

I  glanced  down. 

"  Oh!  "  I  cried.  "  I  beg  your  pardon.  How 
stupid  of  me !  I  must  have  given  you  the  wrong 
card." 

But  Czibulka,  though  somewhat  tardily,  had 
recognized  the  trick.  His  face  went  ashen  and, 
as  I  made  a  movement  to  recover  the  card,  he 
too  sprang  to  his  feet.  As  he  did  so,  my  fingers 
closed  about  his  wrist;  I  gave  it  a  quick  twist 
and,  as  a  low  cry  broke  from  my  enemy,  the  bit 
of  pasteboard  fluttered  from  his  aching  fingers 
and  fell  before  Stephanie's  plate. 

'  Why,"  she  exclaimed,  picking  up  the  card, 
"  it  is  waxed!  " 

I  looked  at  Czibulka.  He  stood  across  the 
table  from  me,  his  eyes  like  a  frog's  in  his  pasty 
face ;  his  bristling  hair  more  erect  than  ever  and 
the  strange  scar  flashing  from  red  to  purple 
upon  his  low  brow. 

"Yes,  mademoiselle,"  said  I;    "the  card  is 


174  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

waxed,  and  it  shows  the  imprint  of  this  gentle 
man's  left  thumb.  You  may  know  that,  in  all 
the  world,  there  are  no  two  men  that  have  thumbs 
similarly  marked.  Do  me  the  honour  then,"  — 
and  I  crossed  to  them,  still  smiling — "  do  me 
the  honour,  mademoiselle,  pray  —  while  I  stand 
between  you  and  your  friend  here  —  of  compar 
ing  that  imprint  in  the  waxed  card  with  this  one 
in  blood,  which  I  found  in  the  house  at  Mount- 
ville  beside  the  dead  body  of  Hans  Jaeger." 

With  that,  I  again  caught  Czibulka's  wrist 
in  a  tight  grip  and,  never  so  much  as  looking 
toward  him,  presented  to  Stephanie  the  bit  of 
crimsoned  newspaper,  which  we  had  secured  at 
the  scene  of  the  murder  and  which  Frances  had, 
only  a  few  hours  before,  turned  over  to  me  for 
this  purpose. 

It  was  a  chance  shot.  For  all  we  knew  that 
madman,  Wilhelm  Jaeger,  now,  evidently,  the 
much-desired  Prince,  might  also  be  left-handed 
and  the  blood  that  the  Rhorerstown  ticker-seller 
had  seen  on  Czibulka's  fingers  might  have  got 
there  after  the  actual  murder,  but,  though  its 
results  were  far  from  what  I  had  expected,  it  was 
a  true  shot  nevertheless. 

Stephanie  looked  first  at  one  impression  and 
then  at  the  other.  My  eyes  devoured  her, 
hungry  for  the  expression  of  horror  that  I  momen- 


Caught  in  the  Net  175 

tarily  expected  to  see  painted  upon  her  face. 
But  nothing  of  the  sort  appeared.  A  slight  line 
—  the  mere  symbol  of  puzzled  concentration  — 
was  drawn  between  her  brows  and  then,  looking 
up  at  me,  she  said  very  quietly : 

"  Monsieur,  it  is  the  same." 

"  Well,  then,"  I  cried  in  triumph,  "  can't  you 
see?  This  man  is  the  murderer  of  Hans  Jaeger!  " 

And  just  there  my  tremendous  melodrama  fell 
to  bits. 

Stephanie  smiled. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  she  said,  "  I  did  not  require 
this  card  to  convince  me  of  it.  Monsieur  Czi- 
bulka's  word  was  sufficient." 

"  His  word?  "  I  repeated  in  utter  bewilder 
ment. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Burton,"  she  nodded.  "  I  have  for 
some  weeks  known  that  Monsieur  Czibulka  killed 
that  villain." 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE   TRUTH    ABOUT   JAEGER 
"  Woe  to  thee  .  .  .  when  thy  king  is  a  child." 

IF  it  had  not  been  for  Czibulka  himself,  I  think 
that  I  should  have  quit  right  there.  But  when 
I  shot  a  glance  at  him  and  saw  that  ugly  face  of 
his  again  wreathed  in  an  unholy  grin,  I  made  up 
my  mind  in  that  moment  to  try  still  one  more 
trump. 

"  Sir,"  I  said,  my  voice  steady  again,  "  a 
moment  ago  you  remarked  that  the  hour  grew 
late,  and  I  acquiesced  with  you.  I  still  agree.  — 
But  it  is  now  I  who  have  a  word  to  say  to  mademoi 
selle  in  private." 

He  gave  a  sudden  start  that  shook  him  free  of 
my  hold. 

"  You  amuse  me,  Mr.  Burton,"  he  growled, 
though  his  face  was  not  precisely  what  one  might 
call  the  picture  of  pleasure. 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  praise,"  I  replied  some 
what  icily.  "  I  should  not  have  guessed  it  had  you 
not  told  it  to  me  yourself.  But  that  is  not  at 

176 


The  Truth  about  Jaeger  177 

all  to  the  point.     I  wish,  Monsieur  Czibulka,  to 
speak  to  mademoiselle  alone." 

'  What?  "   he  stammered  excitedly.     "  When 
you  have  heard  what  she  just  said?  " 

I  looked  again  at  Stephanie.  I  strained  all  my 
heart  to  my  eyes  and  pleaded  silently. 

"  Mademoiselle?  "  I  asked. 

She  studied  me  with  that  calm,  cool  glance  of 
hers,  which  I  had  felt  the  night  before.  Both 
my  fate  and  hers  were  hanging,  for  her  second  of 
hesitation,  in  the  balance,  and  then : 

"  I  can  see  no  harm,"  she  murmured  slowly, 
her  dark  eyes  clouding  to  bewilderment,  "  I  can 
see  no  harm  for  a  few  minutes  —  " 

I  turned  to  Czibulka. 

"  You  hear  mademoiselle?  "  I  demanded. 

"  And,  if  I  should  not  choose  to  obey,"  he 
blustered. 

"  If  you  should  not  choose  to  obey,  Monsieur 
Czibulka,  I  should  at  once  hand  you  over  to  the 
police." 

Whether  it  was  from  a  fear  of  my  effecting  that 
threat,  or  a  sense  that  he  must  meet  her  confidence 
in  him  with  a  seemingly  corresponding  confidence, 
or  whether,  again,  it  was  the  man's  sublime  faith 
in  the  position  in  which  she  had  just  placed 
him,  I  cannot,  for  my  own  part,  determine, 
but,  for  whatever  reason,  he  finally  shrugged 


178  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

his  shoulders  and  even  achieved  another  vacuous 
grin. 

'  Very  well,  monsieur,"  he  agreed.  "  I  shall 
do  better  for  you  than  a  '  few  minutes.'  I  shall 
go  and  not  return  for  half  an  hour." 

He  frowned  with  unconcealed  hostility  at  me, 
smiled  at  Stephanie,  bowed  over  her  extended 
hand  and  made  for  the  door. 

I  watched  his  little  figure  with  its  crown  of 
bristling  black  until  I  had  made  sure  that  he  was 
really  gone.  Then  I  took  the  place  that  he  had 
left  vacant  beside  Stephanie. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  I,  "  you  must  listen  to 
me,  and,  if  you  would  save  your  life,  or,  at  all 
events,  your  cause  —  whatever  that  cause  may 
be  —  you  must  believe  me.  That  man  considers 
he  is  safe  in  leaving  you  with  me,  because  he 
believes  you  think  that  he  killed  this  man  Jaeger 
in  your  service." 

Stephanie  smiled  strangely. 

"  He  did,"  she  said. 

"  You  do  not  at  all  doubt  this?  "  I  asked. 

"  He  could  have  had  no  other  reason." 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,  mademoiselle,  but  let  me 
tell  you  something  that  may  make  you  doubt  his 
loyalty  to  your  cause.  My  friend,  the  detective, 
last  night  overheard  a  confession  which  this 
Czibulka  made  to  the  Baron  de  Hetzendorf,  and 


The  Truth  about  Jaeger  179 

as  a  result  of  that  enforced  confession,  the  am 
bassador  has  promised  to  spare  Bolfras  Czibulka's 
life  only  on  condition  that  he  this  evening  get 
your  address  from  you  and  deliver  you  and  your 
friends  into  the  ambassador's  hands." 

Her  marble  face  paled  whiter,  if  possible,  and 
then  flushed  to  crimson. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  demanded,  her  head  very  high 
and  her  eyes  aflame,  "  how  do  you  dare  to  ask 
me  to  believe  so  vile  a  story?  " 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  answered,  "  how  else  did  I 
know  that  you  were  to  be  here  at  ten  o'clock  to 
meet  the  Austrian  ? ' ' 

She  looked  at  me  searchingly  for  a  long  moment, 
and  then,  suddenly,  her  eyes  fell.  She  half  rose. 

Gently,  I  forced  her  back  to  her  chair. 

"  Sit  down,"  I  ordered. 

"  Why  do  you  try  to  detain  me?  "  she  de 
manded.  "  If  what  you  tell  me  is  true,  there  is 
not  a  moment  to  be  lost  here:  I  must  go  from 
this  place  immediately." 

'  You  cannot  leave  here,"  I  made  answer. 
'  The  ambassador  has  spies  near  at  hand  to  watch 
Czibulka  and  force  him  to  allegiance,  and  this 
place  is  undoubtedly  surrounded." 

"  Ah!  "  she  tossed  her  head  like  a  restrained 
wild  animal.  Her  eyes  were  blazing  again  — • 
blazing  with  the  ancient  hate  that  the  eyes  of 


180  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

her  ancestors  must  have  known.  "  In  that  case, 
there  remains  but  one  thing  for  us  to  do." 

She  took  my  hand  between  her  hot  palms. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  continued,  "  you  say  that 
you  are  my  friend;  you  have  told  me  that  you 
would  serve  me.  Come,  then:  will  you  kill  this 
viper  —  for  me?  " 

I  don't  think  that  I  was  ever  nearer  promising  to 
do  murder;  I  met  her  gaze  with  all  the  heart  of  me 
afire,  but  I  knew  that  murder  is  always  the  last 
resort,  and  then,  frequently,  but  the  resort  of  a 
coward,  and  I  was  not  yet  prepared  to  admit  that 
all  my  fund  of  ingenuity  had  been  exhausted. 

"  Mademoiselle/'  I  swore,  returning  the  pressure 
of  her  hands,  "  I  will  serve  you  even  to  that,  if  it 
becomes  best.  But  I  should  serve  you  ill  indeed  if 
I  ruined  both  of  us  while  there  is  still  a  chance  of 
outwitting  our  enemies.  At  least  so  long  as  we 
remain  in  this  cafe,  we  shall  be  safe,  and  Czibulka, 
ignorant  of  my  knowledge  of  his  treachery,  will 
surely  give  us  the  half  hour  that  he  promised.  We 
may,  then,  take  a  reasonable  amount  of  time  in 
forming  our  plans.  But  before  I  can  advise  you, 
I  must  know  the  truth  of  this  project  upon  which 
you  are  engaged:  you  must  tell  me  the  whole 
truth." 

Slowly  she  released  her  hands  from  mine  and, 
placing  them  on  my  shoulders,  drew  my  face  close 


The  Truth  about  Jaeger  181 

to  hers.  I  don't  know  what  the  other  customers  of 
Monsieur  Albert  were  thinking  —  the  tables  were 
almost  filled  with  them  by  this  time  —  but  they 
were  not  unused  to  such  actions,  prompted  by 
whatever  motive,  and,  at  any  rate,  I  didn't  care. 
It  was,  and  is,  enough  for  me  that  she  did  it. 

"My  friend,"  she  whispered  slowly  —  "You 
are  indeed  my  friend?  " 

My  heart  gave  a  great  bound  at  her  question. 

"  Now  and  for  always  I  am  your  friend,"  I 
vowed. 

She  unloosed  me  gently  and,  her  eyes  still  fixed, 
gave  her  decision : 

"  I  shall  tell  you  all." 

'  Then,"  said  I,  with  difficulty  getting  down  to 
practicalities,  "  who  is  Wilhelm  Jaeger,  anyhow?  " 

She  replied  quietly: 

"  He  is  the  only  legitimate  son  of  Franz- Josef ; 
he  is  the  heir  to  the  throne  of  all  Austria;  he  is 
Rudolf,  the  Prince  Imperial." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SUPPRESSED    HISTORY 

"  For  the  lips  of  a  strange  woman  drop  as  an  honey 
comb,  and  her  mouth  is  smoother  than  oil: 

"But  her  end  is  bitter  as  wormwood,  sharp  as  a  two- 
edged  sword. 

"Her  feet  go  down  to  death;  her  steps  take  hold  on 
hell." 

THE  room  seemed  suddenly  aglow  with  more 
brilliant  lights.  I  had  been  thinking  only  of  my 
own  part  in  this  farce  —  or  tragedy  —  that  was 
being  enacted  in  one  corner  of  L'Abbaye's  green 
and  white  room,  but  somehcfw  at  the  sound  of  that 
one  word,  I  looked  up  to  see  the  gay  colours  — 
mostly  reds  it  seemed  —  that  now  nearly  crowded 
the  salon. 

"  Rudolf!  "   I  echoed. 

"  Hush!  "  she  cautioned.  "  Do  not  speak  so 
loud.  You  do  not  know  who  may  overhear  you  in 
such  a  place  as  this." 

"  But,"  I  protested,  "  surely  it  was  Rudolf  who 
killed  his  sweetheart  and  blew  out  his  own  brains 
at  Mayerling  in  1889." 

Stephanie  shook  her  burnished  head. 

182 


Suppressed  History  183 

"  No  one  at  court,"  she  began,  "  ever  believed 
the  published  accounts  of  the  tragedy  at  Mayer- 
ling.  The  Prince's  love-affair  was  common  knowl 
edge,  and  his  marriage  to  the  proud,  shallow,  bad- 
tempered  daughter  of  King  Leopold  had  nearly 
wrecked  his  reason,  but,  although  these  facts 
would  account  for  much  of  the  story,  they  could 
hardly  account  for  the  discrepancies  in  the  official 
narrative. 

"  Much  of  the  truth  you  must  already  know, 
Mr.  Burton.  How  the  Princess  sent  word  to  her 
father  that  she  intended  to  leave  her  royal  husband ; 
how  Leopold  telegraphed  to  her,  in  reply,  ordering 
her  to  remain;  how  Rudolf,  mad  in  his  love  for 
Marie  Vetsera,  wrote  to  the  Holy  Father,  asking  an 
annulment  of  his  marriage  in  order  that  he  might 
give  up  his  claim  to  the  throne,  and  retire,  with  his 
new  wife,  into  private  life,  and  how  Leo  XIII  sent 
the  Prince's  letter  to  Franz-Josef  —  of  these  things, 
at  least,  the  entire  world  has  long  since  been  aware. 
Here,  throughout  Europe,  whatever  you  may  have 
heard  in  the  United  States,  we  know,  too,  that,  the 
night  after  this  letter  reached  the  Emperor,  he 
summoned  to  him  Rudolf,  the  Archduke  Charles- 
Louis  and  the  Prince- Archbishop  of  Vienna.  We 
know  that  a  scene  of  storm  followed,  but  that  the 
Prince  Imperial  refused  flatly  to  retreat  from  his 
position ;  that,  when  the  father  and  the  son  were 


184  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

left  together  alone,  the  dispute  must  have  waxed 
still  warmer,  because  Rudi  came  out  of  the  room 
as  white  as  a  ghost  and  the  Emperor's  valet,  enter 
ing  later,  found  his  master  in  a  faint.  Anyone  that 
was  then  at  the  court  will  tell  you  that,  the  next 
morning,  Franz- Josef,  as  soon  as  he  awakened,  sent 
for  his  son  only  to  learn  that  the  Prince  had  left 
still  earlier  for  Mayerling,  where  his  friends,  Count 
Hoyos  and  Prince  Philip  of  Coburg,  were  shooting, 
and  even  the  Viennese  newspapers  printed  the  fact 
that,  on  that  very  evening,  there  came  a  brief  note 
from  Rudolf  saying  that  he  was  slightly  indisposed 
and  that  he  would  not  return  for  the  dinner  in 
honour  of  the  Archduchess  Marie-Valerie  and  her 
fianc6,  the  Archduke  Francis-Salvator." 

Stephanie  paused. 

"  Yes,"  I  said;  "  most  of  those  facts  we  heard, 
even  in  America." 

"  And  how  Marie  Vetserawent  to  Mayerling  — 
did  your  American  papers  print  that  too?  " 

I  began  to  remember. 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  that  they  said  that  she  had 
received,  that  day,  a  note  that  she  immediately 
destroyed,  at  once  leaving  her  home  and  going 
afoot  to  the  florist's  shop,  which  she  was  in  the 
habit  of  patronizing." 

"  Precisely  so,  my  friend.  And  there,  at  the 
florist  shop,  she  purchased  an  unusually  large 


Suppressed  History  185 

bunch  of  violets.  These  served  as  a  badge  of  iden 
tification  to  a  cab-driver  that  was  waiting  at  that 
time  for  a  woman  so  decorated  —  Bratfisch,  the 
Crown  Prince's  favourite  cocker,  into  whose  car 
riage  she  was  seen  by  passersby  to  enter,  driving 
rapidly  away." 

"  I  remember  all  that,  mademoiselle.  I  recall, 
too,  that  Rudolf  had  said  that  he  suffered  from  a 
cold  and  would,  therefore,  remain  indoors  while  the 
Prince  of  Coburg  and  the  Count  Hoyos  went  shoot 
ing;  that,  at  Mayerling,  Rudolf  himself,  it  was 
currently  reported,  met  Bratfisch's  carriage,  and 
conducted  its  occupant  to  a  salon  in  his  private 
suite  of  apartments  in  the  palace ;  that  his  friends, 
returning  home,  found  a  note  from  him,  saying 
that  he  would  not  wait  up  for  them ;  that  he  dined 
alone  and  went  to  bed  early.  -  -  The  next  morning, 
Rudolf  was  found  shot  through  the  head  and  Marie 
Vetsera  was  dead  from  poison." 

"  That,  my  friend,  was  the  general  belief.  At 
first  the  official  announcements  had  it  that  the 
Prince  had  died  '  from  an  aneurism  of  the  heart.' 
But,  frankly,  did  you  never  stop  to  think  that  no 
persons,  save  the  court  doctors  and  Rudolf's 
friends,  Coburg  and  Hoyos,  ever  actually  saw  the 
body;  that  the  dead  Prince  Imperial  was  taken 
secretly  from  Mayerling,  and  that  only  when 
people  began  to  gossip  was  the  suicide-story 


186  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

brought  forward  at  the  suggestion  of  the  Duchess 
Ludovica  of  Bavaria,  mother  of  the  Empress 
Elizabeth?" 

"  I  never  did,  but,  even  so  - 

"  Attend  a  moment.  As  for  the  body  of  Marie 
Vetsera,  no  one  at  all  saw  that.  In  the  final  version 
of  the  narrative,  after  the  suicide-story  had  been 
given  out,  it  was  said  that  this  body  was  by  night 
smuggled  out  a  back  door  at  Mayerling,  twenty- 
four  hours  after  the  Prince's  had  been  removed  for 
burial.  They  said  also  that  it  had  been  taken  into 
the  forest,  put  on  a  wagon,  concealed  for  a  day  or 
more  in  the  chapel  of  Heiligenkreutz  and  then  car 
ried  to  some  remote  railway  station,  whence  it  was 
hurried  to  Trieste  and  so  to  Venice,  where,  later,  it 
was  reported  that  the  girl  had  died." 

"  If  I  remember  correctly,  we  heard  nearly  all  of 
these  details  at  home,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  made  answer,  "  it  was  quite  possible. 
But  we  —  some  of  us  in  Vienna  —  did  not  believe 
them.  Bit  by  bit  we  found  first  one  flaw  and  then 
another  until  we  became  convinced  that  the  Prince 
was  still  alive.  Me  —  I  am  an  Hungarian.  My 
father  died  for  the  liberty  of  my  native  land,  and  I, 
the  only  child  of  his  house,  had  given  my  life  to 
such  service  as  a  woman  might  render  in  the  Cause. 
I  was  willing  —  I  was  anxious  —  to  give  my  very 
heart's  blood  for  it.  Now,  at  last,  after  long 


Suppressed  History  187 

searching,  I  was  sure  that  I  had  come  upon  some 
thing  that  might  be  turned  to  the  purpose  of  free 
dom.  I  need  not  go  into  all  the  details.  Russia,  I 
was  aware,  had  her  own  ends  to  gain  and  I  and  my 
friends  made  a  bargain  with  her  by  which  we  ob 
tained  for  our  aid  the  wonderful  secret  service  of 
that  most  wonderful  empire.  It  was  in  this  man 
ner  that  we  verified  our  suspicions  concerning  Ru 
dolf's  death  and,  in  the  end,  learned  the  truth." 
"  And  that  was  —  ?  "  I  prompted. 
'  The  truth  was  that  Prince  Rudolf  had  indeed 
declared  to  his  father  and  to  his  other  advisers  that 
he  had  determined  to  marry  the  woman  he  loved ; 
he  had  announced  that  he  was  a  free  man  and 
would  give  up  all  claim  to  the  throne  and  live  his 
own  life  as  he  chose  to  live  it.  With  this  intention 
firm  in  his  mind,  he  went  to  Mayerling  and  sent  for 
Marie  in  the  manner  in  which  all  the  world  now 
knows.  --You  know  well,  by  reputation  at  least, 
the  Austrian  pride  —  greater  far  than  their  pater 
nal  love  —  and  especially  the  pride  of  the  Haps- 
burgs.  Eh  bien.  The  Archdukes,  being  immedi 
ately  informed  of  Rudolf's  attitude,  and  having 
been  told  by  the  Emperor  himself  of  the  impossi 
bility  of  swerving  the  Prince  from  his  purpose, 
resolved  —  oh,  without,  I  grant  you,  the  knowl 
edge  of  Franz-Josef !  —  to  nip  the  scandal  in  the 
bud  by  the  ancient  and  effective  method  of  assas- 


188  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

sination.  They  determined  to  kill  the  heir  to  the 
throne  and  give  it  out  publicly  that  he  had  died 
of  heart  disease.  They  bribed  the  Prince's  body- 
servant,  Loschek,  to  do  the  killing.  This  Loschek 
entered  the  room  in  which  were  Rudi  and  Marie 
and  endeavoured  to  earn  his  reward,  but  the 
Prince,  who  was  powerfully  strong,  was  too  quick 
for  his  would-be  murderer,  and  overcame  him, 
driving  into  the  servant's  heart  the  knife  that  had 
sought  his  own.  At  once  —  that  night  —  Rudolf 
and  his  sweetheart  fled  from  Mayerling  and  com 
pletely  disappeared." 

"  But  the  newspapers,"  I  insisted.  :<  How  were 
they  silenced?  " 

Stephanie  shrugged  her  supple  shoulders. 

'  You  must  know  that  Austria  is  not  America," 
she  sufficiently  explained.  "  And,"  she  added, 
"  you  must  remember  that  the  body  was  not 
exposed  to  general  view.  The  conspirators,  in 
order  to  protect  themselves  and  seeing  that  they 
might  use  as  well  one  dead  man  as  another,  worked 
upon  Franz-Josef's  fear  of  scandal  and  ended  in 
bringing  the  Emperor  around  to  their  way  of 
thinking.  They  simply  substituted  the  body  of 
Loschek  for  that  of  Rudolf  and  gave  out  that  the 
Prince  Imperial  had  died  of  heart  disease,  just 
as  they  had  originally  planned  to  do.  It  was  only 
when  their  secrecy  about  the  funeral  nearly  started 


Suppressed  History  189 

riots  in  Vienna  that  the  suicide  story  was  adopted, 
and  then,  as  you  may  recall,  it  was  further  stated 
that  Loschek  had  been  pensioned  and  sent 
abroad." 

"  And  the  Prince,"  I  asked,  "  came  to  the 
United  States?" 

Stephanie  nodded  assent. 

"  In  the  meantime,"  she  pursued,  "  Rudolf 
had,  of  course,  disappeared.  He  was,  after  much 
time  and  trouble,  traced,  by  Austrian  agents, 
to  a  small  town  in  the  state  of  Iowa,  where,  for 
some  time,  he  was  quietly  supported  by  a  pension. 
Then,  suddenly,  it  was  learned  by  the  government 
that  Marie  had  died,  that  his  loss  had  completely 
unseated  Rudi's  reason  and  that  he  had  been 
altogether  lost  track  of.  It  was  at  this  time  that 
my  allies  and  I  began  our  own  investigations." 

"You  found  him?" 

"  Not  at  once.  Our  plan  was  to  get  possession 
of  his  person,  and  then,  either  use  that  possession 
as  a  threat  against  the  Austrian  government  in 
order  to  gain  concessions  for  Hungary,  or  else, 
to  turn  Rudolf  over  to  Russia,  and,  upon  the 
death  of  the  Emperor,  Franz-Josef,  to  produce 
him  and  bring  him  to  the  throne,  mad  as  he  was, 
controlled,  of  course,  by  Russian  advisers,  who 
would  at  once  set  my  country  free.  This  was  good, 
but,  unfortunately,  the  Austrian  agents,  from 


190  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

Washington,  were  'ahead  of  us  in  the  field.  They 
chose  a  clever  man  for  their  task,  and,  when  he  had 
found  the  Prince  again,  they  ordered  him  to 
maintain  the  ascendency  he  had  gained  over  that 
enfeebled  intellect.  These  orders  the  Austrian 
agent  executed  to  the  letter.  He  took  Rudolf 
to  that  little  farm  in  Mountville,  where  the  two 
of  them  lived  as  brothers  under  the  assumed  name 
of  Jaeger  —  Wilhelm  and  Hans  Jaeger." 

"  I  begin  to  see,"  I  said  smiling  grimly,  "  in 
what  deep  waters  I  have  been  trying  to  swim." 

"  Deep  indeed,"  admitted  Stephanie,  with  a 
rueful  curve  upon  her  scarlet  lips,  "  I  understand, 
for  I  have  been  swimming  in  them,  too.  When 
the  Russian  spies  informed  us  of  this  new  turn  of 
events,  I  was  sent  to  America,  but,  meanwhile, 
it  seems,  the  Prince  had  begun  to  show  glimmers 
of  returning  reason  and  the  archdukes,  learning  of 
our  activities  —  I  now  can  guess  from  what 
quarter  —  became  alarmed.  Unknown  to  the 
Emperor,  they  once  again  determined  to  attempt 
to  assassinate  the  Prince.  Czibulka  was  to  go 
to  Lancaster  and  oversee  the  affair.  As  Rudolf's 
returning  reason  had  given  him  some  suspicions 
of  the  truth,  any  ransacking  of  the  premises  such 
as  was  necessary  —  for,  in  a  dispatch-box  the 
Prince  kept  many  papers  that  would  prove  his 
identity  —  would  have  to  be  done  during  his 


Suppressed  History  191 

absence  or  after  his  death,  and,  as  the  murderer 
must  escape  in  order  that  the  secret  be  preserved, 
it  was  decided  that  Czibulka  should  begin  his 
search  while  the  spy  was  accompanying  the  Prince 
to  the  village  post-office." 

With  every  word  the  mystery  was  becoming 
clearer. 

"  I  see,"  I  said,  and  rapidly  explained  how  I 
came  to  know  why  the  plan  had  been  delayed 
twenty-four  hours,  and  why  Stephanie  had  made 
her  appeal  to  Frances  Baird. 

"  On  the  whole,  this  is  right  enough,"  she 
admitted.  "  I  was  advised  to  seek  Miss  Baird 
for  the  recovery  of  the  Prince's  papers,  because, 
it  was  told  me,  in  a  local  murder-case,  she  would 
have  more  freedom  of  action  than  our  Russian 
spies.  This  Czibulka  seems  to  have  made  a 
comparatively  true  confession  to  the  ambassador, 
but  of  course  such  a  dog  as  he  is  could  not  tell 
the  whole  truth  to  anyone,  and  he  has  omitted  one 
important  detail.  He  himself  has  told  me  — 
and  the  Prince  has  confirmed  it  —  that,  when  he 
heard  the  struggle  below-stairs  in  the  farmhouse, 
he  ran  down,  discovered  the  men  locked  in  a 
death-grasp,  picked  up  a  knife  and  then,  deciding 
quickly  that  Rudolf  was  the  more  valuable  piece 
of  property,  killed  the  hired  assassin.  —  Oh," 
she  went  on,  "  he  of  course  explained  to  me  that 


192  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

he  meant  all  along  to  serve  us,  but  I  know  now 
what  his  mental  process  must  have  been  and  why, 
after  he  had  killed  one  man  whom  he  had  never 
even  seen  before,  he  saved  another,  not  for  love 
of  that  man  or  love  of  our  Cause,  but  merely  for 
the  money  that  he  might  gain.  As  soon  as  he  had 
accomplished  his  deed,  he  telegraphed  to  me  and, 
finally,  gave  the  Prince  into  my  keeping  to  be 
brought  to  Paris.  It  was  my  first  sight  of  His 
Highness,  and  I  almost  wish  it  had  been  my  last. 
But  —  well,  at  all  events,  that  ends  my  story." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  seat,  over  her  marble 
face  the  veil  of  a  great  weariness. 

"  That  ends  my  story,"  she  repeated,  "  and  my 
work  as  well,  I  believe.  The  book  is  now  closed 
for  ever,  my  friend.  Hungary,  but  a  moment 
ago  so  near  to  freedom,  must  remain  in  servitude, 
and  Prince  Rudolf  must  be  delivered  over  to 
death." 

But  I  could  not  share  her  mood.  My  own  blood 
was  fired  with  the  final  knowledge  of  the  big 
stakes  for  which  we  were  playing. 

"  I  should  not  bet  on  that,  mademoiselle,"  I 
said.  "  I  have  still  a  few  more  trumps  left  in  my 
hand,  thank  you.  Come  with  me." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE   LOG   OF   A   DEEP-SEAGOING   HANSOM 

"  Behold,  such  is  our  expectation,  whither  we  flee  for 
help  to  be  delivered  from  the  King  of  Assyria:  and  how 
shall  we  escape?  " 

FOR  a  quick  instant  her  black  eyes  flashed 
with  hope,  but  as  soon  again  clouded  to  doubt. 

"  Go?  "  she  repeated.  "  My  friend,  with  all  my 
heart.  But  where  and  "  -  her  scarlet  lips  parted 
in  a  little  spiritless  smile—  "  in  Heaven's  name, 
how?" 

"  Only  one  question  at  a  time,  mademoiselle," 
I  answered.  "  As  to  our  destination,  that  is  simple 
enough:  we  must  go,  as  fast  as  carriage  or  taxi 
will  drive  us,  to  your  address  and  warn  your 
allies." 

"  But,  surely  this  place  is  now  being  watched 
both  front  and  back." 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  I  replied. 

"  And,  if  we  leave  it,  we  are  sure  to  be  fol 
lowed." 

"  I  think  not,  mademoiselle.  You  have  asked 
me  also  as  to  the  means  of  our  escape:  didn't 

193 


194  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

I,  last  night,  notice  another  restaurant  almost 
next  door  to  this  one?  " 

She  nodded:    "  The  Rat  Mort." 

"  Good.  And  don't  you  happen  to  know  the 
proprietor  of  this  place  —  L'Abbaye?  " 

"  I  know  the  proprietors  of  both  places.  My 
aunt  married  a  Frenchman  and  both  of  these 
men  were  once  on  my  uncle's  estate  in  Nor 
mandy." 

'  You  can  trust  them?  " 

"  I  can  trust  them  absolutely." 

Blond  Albert,  our  host  of  L'Abbaye,  was,  just 
as  she  said  this,  passing  between  the  narrow  aisles 
in  our  direction.  I  beckoned  to  him. 

"  Monsieur,  it  is  necessary,"  I  rapidly  ex 
plained,  "  that  mademoiselle  leave  here  speedily 
and  altogether  unobserved.  Neither  of  your  exits 
will  serve  her  purpose.  I  wish  to  conduct  her 
across  the  roofs  to  the  '  Rat  Mort.'  Can  you  not 
arrange  this?  " 

Albert's  pleasant,  thin  face  wrinkled  per 
plexedly,  and  he  looked  at  Stephanie  for  a  further 
explanation. 

"Is  mademoiselle  the  Comtesse  sure — ,"  he 
began. 

"  Quite  sure,"  she  insisted. 

Her  word  and  tone  were  enough  to  convince 
the  proprietor.  The  smile  leaped  back  to  his  lips. 


The  Log  of  a  Deep-seagoing  Hansom  195 

"  At  once,  monsieur,  mademoiselle,"  he  beamed, 
"  if  you  will  but  be  so  good  as  to  follow  me." 

We  lost  not  a  moment.  As  we  hurried  by  the 
salle  d'attente,  a  bowing  waiter  handed  us  our 
wraps,  and,  after  a  sharp  turn  to  the  right  and 
a  quick  passage  up  a  narrow  stairway,  the  Nor 
man,  from  the  darkness,  flung  wide  a  hidden 
trap-door.  The  cool  air  of  the  night  caressed  our 
faces.  Overhead  shone  the  stars  in  myriads  and 
underfoot  clanked  the  tiles.  We  were  on  the 
roof. 

Nor  did  Albert's  good  offices  fail  us  there.  It 
must  have  been  a  journey  that  the  exigencies  of 
his  business  had  previously  demanded  of  him,  for 
he  guided  us  rapidly  about  the  many  chimney 
pots  and  dexterously  led  us  across  to  the  next 
house,  Stephanie's  right  hand  in  his  and  her  left 
thrilling  in  my  own,  until,  by  what,  but  for  his 
warnings,  would  have  been  a  perilous  route,  he 
brought  us  again  to  a  door,  which  swung  slowly 
open  to  a  light  tap  from  his  knuckles. 

"  Pierre,"   he  whispered  to  the  cautious  head 
that  was   thrust  out  to  inspect  us,   "it  is  I  - 
Albert.     It  is  all  right.    These  are  my  friends  and 
the  friends  of  your  master's.     It  is  as  a  favour  to 
me  that  I  ask  you  to  permit  them  to  descend." 

Pierre  gave  a  grunt  that  I  took  to  mean  assent. 
At  any  rate,  I  stepped  inside,  leading  Stephanie 


196  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

carefully  after  me,  and  then,  before  we  could 
even  turn  to  thank  Albert,  the  door  had  closed 
upon  him  and  our  new  guide  showed  us  down  other 
flights  of  stairs  and  brought  us  to  the  shadowy 
hallway  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  "  Rat  Mort," 
where,  without  a  word,  he  turned  away  as  rapidly 
as  had  Albert  upon  the  roof,  and -left  us  to  our 
own  devices. 

I  faced  my  companion.  A  single  dim  and 
flickering  gas-jet  shone  upon  the  tall  figure  of  the 
Countess  Stephanie  and  played  tricks  with  the  red 
hair  beneath  the  big  black  hat,  and  seemed,  I 
almost  thought  breathlessly,  to  make  her  sway 
a  little  toward  me  as  I  put  out  the  hand  that  she 
took  in  both  of  hers. 

"  Now,"  I  said  confidently,  "  we  are  about  to 
make  our  attempt  at  freedom." 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  answered. 

"  But,"  I  insisted,  hesitating  a  little,  "  you 
must  not  give  yourself  into  my  care  unless  you 
are  sure  of  me.  Thirty-six  hours  ago  you  thought 
me  your  enemy;  even  earlier  this  evening,  less 
than  an  hour  ago,  you  doubted  me." 

I  felt  the  slightest  pressure  of  her  hand. 

"  But  now,"  she  whispered,  "  I  know  you  are 
my  friend." 

"  I  am  about  to  leave  you  here  for  a  moment," 
I  explained.  "  I  am  about  to  step  into  the  street. 


The  Log  of  a  Deep-seagoing  Hansom  197 

For  all  you  know,  I  may  be  going  to  play  the 
traitor  and  sell  your  secret.  I  may  be  tempted, 
you  know,  just  as  Czibulka  was." 

She  slipped  one  hand  from  mine  and  raised  it 
to  my  lips.  Her  face  had  flushed  to  crimson,  but 
she  spoke  calmly. 

"  You  shall  not  talk  so,"  she  said.     "  I  trust 
you,  my  friend  —  entirely.    Do  you  believe  me  — 
now?  " 

And  then,  with  a  sudden  movement,  the  first 
hand  passed  to  my  cheek,  the  other  followed,  and, 
lifting  her  head,  she  kissed  me  lightly  on  the 
mouth. 

"Stephanie!"  I  cried  —  and  flung  wide  my 
arms  to  catch  her. 

But  she  leaped  back,  laughing. 

"  Monsieur  Quixote,"  she  replied,  "  when 
seconds  were  golden,  it  seemed  the  only  way  to 
convince  you." 

My  heart  sank  lower  than  it  had  risen. 

"  Then,"  I  babbled,  "  you  didn't  mean  it?  " 

"  Oh,  you  silly,  silly  boy!  Don't  you  under 
stand  that  we  must  hurry?  Here,  take  this  little 
talisman  and  believe  that  I  meant  that  I  trust 
you!" 

From  one  of  those  mysterious  recesses  where 
women  carry  the  most  surprising  of  accoutre 
ments,  she  took  a  pair  of  small  shining  scissors 


198  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

and,  with  apparent  abandon,  clipped  free  a  lock 
of  her  glorious  hair. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  still  laughing  as  she  pressed 
it  into  my  palm,  "  go  —  go  —  go!  " 

I  caught  and  kissed  her  hand,  but  she  pushed 
me  forward  to  the  door  and  I  stepped  into  the 
street.  It  was  my  purpose  to  go  leisurely,  as  if 
alone,  and,  with  heart  athrob,  I  think  I  managed 
it  pretty  well. 

The  hour  was  early  —  for  Montmartre  —  and, 
to  my  delight,  there  were  only  four  cabs  in  evi 
dence.  To  the  driver  of  one  of  these  —  the  one 
just  before  the  door  of  the  Rat  Mort  —  I  care 
lessly  beckoned.  The  cocker  sprang  nimbly 
forward  and  I  pressed  a  twenty-franc  piece  into 
his  hand. 

"  Obey   orders,"    I    whispered    rapidly.      "  Go 
where  you  like  until  told  a  definite  address  — 
but  go  far  and  fast!  " 

The  fellow  grinned  comprehendingly,  touched 
his  gleaming  white  celluloid  hat,  leaped  into  the 
box,  and,  as  I  flung  open  the  door  of  the  cab, 
seized  the  reins. 

Then  I  spun  about  upon  my  heel  and,  in  the 
dark  shadow  of  the  doorway,  laid  hold  upon 
Stephanie. 

"Come!"  I  cried. 

I  almost  lifted  her  in  my  two  arms,  literally 


The  Log  of  a  Deep-seagoing  Hansom  199 

tossed  her  into  the  cab,  banged  shut  its  door, 
sprang  to  the  curb  and  smacked  the  horse  with  a 
stinging  palm. 

"  Allez  !  "  I  yelled  —  and,  its  driver  lashing  out 
with  his  whip,  the  crazy  vehicle  jumped  into  the 
darkness. 

Then  things  began  to  happen  like  incidents  in 
a  cinematograph  entertainment.  From  nowhere 
and  everywhere,  the  surrounding  shadows  belched 
up  and  spewed  forth  running  men.  The  street 
rang  with  banging  feet  and  shouted  curses,  and 
one  figure,  which  I  took  for  Czibulka's,  dashed 
into  the  handiest  of  the  three  remaining  cabs. 

But  I  was  too  quick  to  let  him  accomplish  his 
purpose.  In  fact,  I  had  counted  on  just  this  move 
by  him,  and  I  had  my  knife  in  readiness.  It  was 
merely  a  question  of  one  turn  of  my  hand  to  slash 
the  near  trace  and  put  that  cab  out  of  business, 
and  then,  with  a  swift  blow  between  the  eyes,  it 
was  only  a  matter  of  tossing  aside  another  spy 
to  get  the  second  cab  for  myself,  to  shout  to  the 
driver  to  follow  closely  that  in  which  Stephanie 
had  just  set  forth  —  and  so  to  get  clean  away. 

I  fell  back,  panting  heavily,  upon  the  tossing 
cushions  of  the  cab  as  we  plunged  madly,  with 
frightful  clamour  and  terrifying  lurchings,  down 
the  precipitous  street  in  pursuit  of  the  Countess. 
The  blood  was  beating  in  my  ears,  my  heart  was 


200  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

knocking  against  my  ribs.  But  rest  I  knew  to  be 
entirely  out  of  all  question,  for  I  had  left  one  good 
vehicle  behind  me  and  it  was  certain  that  it  would, 
at  any  moment  now,  be  close  upon  our  traces. 
Nor  had  I  long  to  wait  for  the  sound  of  it.  We 
had  gone  scarcely  two  blocks  when,  above  the 
racket  of  my  own  cab,  I  heard  the  thundering 
clatter  of  that  other. 

And  Stephanie's  coach  was  in  full  view  just 
ahead ! 

I  sat  up,  my  arms  stretched  wide  to  save  me 
from  beating  out  my  brains  against  the  side  of  the 
taximetre,  and  listened  with  ears  strained.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  about  it:  my  enemies  were 
gaining  on  us ;  they  had  secured  a  better  horse  — 
the  pursuit  was  gaining  steadily. 

What  to  do  ?  It  was  obvious  that  I  was  not  the 
prey  they  were  after.  But  if  they  stuck  tight 
behind  me,  and  if  I  continued  to  follow  Stephanie, 
I  should  actually  be  directing  them  to  her  hiding- 
place.  If  I  turned  aside,  they  would  be  too  keen 
to  strike  away  from  the  main  trail  to  nose  after 
any  false  scent,  but,  so  close  were  we  both  to 
the  real  quarry,  that,  if  I  dashed  around  the  corner 
at  some  side  street,  I  should  merely  be  leaving  my 
Countess  unguarded.  —  And  yet,  there  was  not 
an  instant  to  be  lost  in  debate. 

At  the  joyful  risk  of  my  neck,  I  flung  wide  the 


The  Log  of  a  Deep-seagoing  Hansom  201 

door  and  yelled  until  the  driver,  without  any 
appreciable  decrease  in  our  speed,  gave  husky 
answer. 

"  Turn  quickly,  straight  across  the  street,"  I 
commanded  him  loudly  —  "  and  stop!  " 

With  such  a  jerk  that  it  tossed  me  out  of  the 
cab  and  into  the  gutter,  he  obeyed  me.  We  were 
just  midway  down  the  steepest  hill  that  I  had  as 
yet  encountered  in  all  Paris;  my  enemy,  at  a 
break-neck  gait,  was  tumbling  not  twenty  feet 
behind  us,  and  the  thoroughfare  was  so  narrow 
that  we  completely  blocked  the  way. 

Just  as  I  got  to  my  feet  and  staggered  under  my 
own  cab's  lamp,  the  rival  driver  pulled  up  his 
gasping  beast  until  I  thought  —  and  hoped !  - 
that  the  horse  with  its  hurrying  carriage  con 
taining  my  enemy  would  fall  against  the  blockade 
and  be  crushed  out  of  existence. 

I  turned  to  my  man. 

"  I  have  here  a  hundred -franc  note,"  I  almost 
shouted.  "It  is  yours  if  you  follow  my  orders 
and  keep  quiet." 

Then  I  faced  the  pursuing  cab.  My  plan  was, 
thus  far,  working  perfectly:  with  a  little  more 
courage,  I  should  be  able  to  hold  up  the  enemy 
until  Stephanie  had  fled  beyond  the  possibility 
of  being  captured  by  him. 

"  You  there!  "  I  shouted. 


202  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

But  I  got  no  answer.  The  driver  sat  stolidly 
upon  his  box  and  no  face  showed  itself  at  the 
window  beneath  him. 

"  Come  out  of  that  cab!  "  I  continued. 

Still  there  was  no  reply. 

I  took  out  my  watch,  placed  it,  open,  in  my 
left  hand,  glanced  at  it  by  the  carriage-lamp,  and, 
with  my  right  hand,  levelled  with  a  steadiness  that 
almost  surprised  me  at  that  moment,  my  revolver 
at  the  stolid  driver. 

"  Very  well,"  I  said  distinctly.  "  One  of  you 
will  do  quite  as  well  as  the  other.  I  shall  hold 
you  here  for  precisely  one  minute.  At  the  end 
of  that  time,  you  may  go  ahead,  but,  if  you 
dare  to  move  before  I  shall  give  you  permission, 
I  promise  you  that  I  shall  first  shoot  your  horse 
and  then  blow  out  your  brains." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    VOICE    OF    THE    PRINCE 

"  My  lips  quivered  at  the  voice:  .  .  .  and  I  trembled  in 
myself." 

You  would  expect,  wouldn't  you,  something 
melodramatic  by  way  of  reply  to  a  command  of 
that  sort?  Your  civilized  literary  sense  would 
demand  it.  And  when  you  didn't  get  it,  you  would 
be  apt  to  alight  upon  gross  earth  with  what  the 
young  reporter  describes  as  "  a  dull  thud." 

That  is  precisely  what  I  did.  I  looked  for  oaths 
and  protestations  from  an  ever-stolid,  ever-silent 
driver;  I  was  ready  for  an  attack  from  his  thus 
far  invisible  passenger.  And  I  received  not  a 
sound  from  either. 

It  was  a  strange  duel  of  silence  that  followed, 
and  far  more  disconcerting  than  anything  upon 
which  I  had  counted,  but  I  held  my  ground 
grimly  and  stood  prepared  for  any  show  of  a 
demonstration,  with  one  eye  on  the  enemy  and 
the  other  on  the  watch.  Then,  when  the  allotted 
time  had  expired,  I  gave  them  just  a  few  seconds 
more  of  enforced  rest  for  good  measure  and, 

203 


204  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

calmly  climbing  once  more  into  my  cab,  bade  the 
driver  go  ahead. 

'  Where  now,  monsieur?  "  he  demanded. 

I  looked  up  the  street  —  there  was  not  a  sign 
of  reinforcements  for  the  pursuer;  I  looked 
down  —  and  Stephanie's  cab  had  vanished  into 
the  night. 

"  Anywhere,"  I  answered,  and  closed  the  door. 

At  that  we  began  the  procession.  We  went 
straight  along  the  streets  before  us  and  the  silent 
fiacre  followed  us.  We  turned  to  the  right,  and 
it  also  turned.  We  took  a  chance  to  the  left,  and 
it  kept  close  behind. 

The  thing  began  to  get  on  my  nerves.  I 
determined  to  see  to  whom  I  was  indebted  for 
these  faithful  attentions  and,  again  at  the  risk  of 
life  or  limb,  I  directed  my  driver  to  whip  up  for 
a  bit  and  then  to  stop  quickly  on  the  near  side 
of  the  next  strong  street-light.  He  did  it  —  he 
did  it  so  well  that  the  dumb  pursuer  could  not 
draw  up  before  he  had  passed  us.  And  I,  leaning 
far  out  from  my  window,  caught  my  desired 
glimpse  of  my  enemy's  face. 

It  was  Bolfras  Czibulka 

I  got,  of  course,  only  that  flying  glance,  but  that 
was  quite  sufficient  to  show  me  that  I  had  to  do 
with  a  desperate  man.  Czibulka  must  have  lost 
his  hat  in  that  race  for  a  cab  at  the  entrance  to 


The  Voice  of  the  Prince  205 

the  Rat  Mort:  his  bristling  black  hair  seemed 
quivering  in  its  uprightness;  his  bullet-head  was 
thrust  far  forward  by  his  thick  neck;  his  heavy 
face  was  a  vivid  white  patch  against  the  window, 
and  his  little  mouse-eyes  were  almost  leaping  from 
their  sockets.  Czibulka,  plainly,  was  making 
his  last  desperate  play  for  life. 

Once  ahead  of  me,  the  man  seemed  to  realize 
that  I  had  succeeded  in  losing  the  scent  for  him. 
I  suppose  he  then  and  there  resolved  to  drop  me 
altogether  and  make  a  wild  dash  forward  in  some 
sort  of  crazy  pursuit  for  the  vanished  needle  in 
the  enormous  Parisian  haystack.  At  all  events, 
he  gave  a  shouting  order  to  his  driver,  and  the 
cab  shot  forward  in  front  of  us. 

This  reversed  our  positions.  It  was  I  who  was 
now  the  pursuer,  and  I  didn't  fancy  my  new  r61e. 
The  sight  of  the  fellow  had,  in  fact,  re-awakened 
all  the  hatred  of  him  which  I  had  felt  in  L'Abbaye, 
especially  during  his  open  delight  at  the  Countess's 
supposedly  strategic  flirtation  with  him,  and  I 
made  another  sudden  resolve. 

My  driver  was  both  a  thrifty  soul  and  an 
adventurer.  He  agreed  • —  for  a  price  —  to  carry 
out  my  suggestion.  He  lashed  his  horse  into  a 
quick  fury  and,  as  we  spun  by  Monsieur  Czi- 
bulka's  equipage,  he  obeyed  my  orders  by  neatly 
ripping  off  its  near  wheel  and  spilling  its  raging 


206  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

occupant  upon  the  street.  It  was  all  perfectly 
done  —  save  for  one  small  drawback :  our  own 
horse  went  down  and  I  found  myself  ramming  my 
head  into  the  front  cushions. 

I  picked  myself  up  and  surveyed  the  damage. 
My  beast,  between  the  broken  shafts,  was  lying 
ahead  of  us  with  that  terrifying  quiescence  that 
the  experienced  horse  offers  to  every  fall.  The 
one  driver  —  mine  —  was  bending  over  him ;  the 
other  —  my  enemy's  —  was  running  forward  - 
cursing  loudly  enough  this  time  —  to  visit  ven 
geance  on  the  rival  that  had  caused  the  wreckage. 
Close  behind,  Czibulka,  his  clothes  torn,  his  ashen 
face  a  little  bloody,  and  a  revolver  glinting  in  his 
clenched  hand,  was  advancing,  presumably  upon 
me. 

I  didn't  fancy  being  caged  in  a  smashed  cab, 
so  I  jumped  out  instead  and,  as  there  is  no  use 
in  waiting  for  trouble  to  lay  hold  on  one,  I  rushed 
toward  Czibulka  quite  as  swiftly  as  he  was  rushing 
my  way.  Then  I  stepped  politely  aside  as  he  was 
about  to  reach  me  and  tripped  him  as  he  passed. 

He  went  down  hard,  and  I  dropped  on  him  like 
a  full-back  on  the  pig-skin,  which,  indeed,  he  did, 
in  some  measure,  resemble.  I  rammed  my  knee 
into  his  spine,  grabbed  his  throat  with  my  right 
hand  and  was  just  about  to  wrench  away  his 
revolver  with  the  other,  when  I  heard  in  the  dis- 


The  Voice  of  the  Prince  207 

tance  a  now  familiar  sound,  and  decided  to  hold 
the  fellow's  wrist  in  such  a  manner  that  he  would 
not  be  able  to  let  go  that  gun  even  if  he  wanted 
to. 

For  the  sound  was  that  of  running  feet  and 
clattering  swords.  I  had  again  before  me  the 
prospect  of  an  interview  with  the  police  of  Paris. 

They  were  there,  shouting  unintelligibly,  in  an 
instant,  —  three  of  them  —  and,  in  another  in 
stant,  were  tugging  hard  at  my  shoulders  to  release 
the  spy. 

"One  moment,  messieurs!"  I  cried.  "One 
moment,  if  you  please!  I  shall  get  up  from  here 
immediately,  but  I  ask  you  first  to  notice  that  this 
man  is  armed." 

Then  I  did  get  up,  and  they  jerked  Czibulka 
after  me.  I  looked  them  over  quickly  and  thanked 
my  stars  to  find  that  none,  evidently,  had  figured 
in  my  previous  experience  with  the  French  con 
stabulary. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?  "  demanded 
their  leader,  a  fiery  little  sergeant  with  an  imperial 
and  a  lot  of  chevrons. 

Czibulka,  whom  he  addressed,  was  hurting  his 
cause  by  struggling  to  get  away  from  the  two 
men  that  held  him  by  the  shoulders,  and  to  pitch 
into  me  again. 

Knowing  well  the  value  of  the  first  presentation 


208  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

of  a  case,  I  gladly  seized  the  opportunity  thus 
offered. 

"  It  means,"  I  lied  glibly,  "  that  this  fellow  ran 
down  my  cab,  and  that,  when  I  protested,  he  tried 
to  murder  me." 

"  You  swine!  "  shouted  Czibulka,  shaking  his 
captors  until  they  danced  about  his  twisting  arms 
like  twin  tails  to  a  kite.  "  You  swine,  you  Spanish 
cow,  you  duck  of  a  liar !  Messieurs,  I  tell  you  that 
it  is  /  who  am  the  victim  of  this  outrage!  " 

"  You  saw  his  revolver,  messieurs,"  I  calmly 
reminded  the  puzzled-looking  sergeant. 

"  But  you  dare  not  to  offer  me  the  indignity 
of  an  arrest,"  shrieked  Czibulka,  completely  dis 
regarding  my  luminous  interruption.  "  I  am  an 
attache"  of  the  Austrian  embassy!  " 

That,  I  admitted  even  then  —  to  myself  only, 
however  —  was  a  good  shot.  The  men  that  had 
a  hold  on  him  dropped  their  grip  without  a  second 
of  hesitation,  and  the  sergeant  turned  a  sharp 
eye  toward  me. 

"  Monsieur,"  I  replied  in  answer  to  that  un 
spoken  inquiry,  "  this  man  may  or  may  not  be 
all  that  he  says.  But,  for  that  matter,  I  may  be 
the  American  ambassador.  —  However,  does  either 
one  of  us  look  our  part?  " 

I  saw  the  sergeant  smile  grimly. 

"  Attend  a  moment,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  and, 


The  Voice  of  the  Prince  209 

beckoning  the  now  panic-stricken  drivers  toward 
him,  stepped  over  to  his  subordinates  for  a  whis 
pered  consultation,  leaving  the  now  somewhat 
chastened  Czibulka  almost  shoulder  to  shoulder 
with  me. 

"  Well,"  I  said  pleasantly,  "  this  has  been  a 
'  merry  evening,'  has  it  not,  monsieur?  " 

Czibulka  glared. 

"You  think  yourself  very  clever  —  no?."  he 
growled.  "  You  have  managed  to  get  us  both 
arrested ;  you  have  made  of  us  a  joke  —  and  what 
have  you  gained?  " 

"  Why,  monsieur,"  I  responded,  smiling  a  little 
triumphantly,  "  as  to  that,  a  good  deal,  it  seems 
to  me.  You  understand,  I  have  entirely  spoiled 
your  chance  of  learning  the  address  of  the  Countess 
Routkovsky  and  her  —  friends." 

But  just  here  I  brought  myself  up  short,  the 
smile  frozen  on  my  lips.  For  I  saw  what  an  ass 
I  had  been  at  the  start  of  that  wild  ride:  I  had 
neglected  to  get  from  Stephanie  that  address,  and 
now  I  was  quite  as  ignorant  of  her  whereabouts 
as  was  this  double  traitor  Czibulka,  who  stood 
uncomfortably  at  my  side! 

Without  a  word,  I  turned  and  bolted  up  the 
street. 

It  was  the  earlier  story  over  again,  but  with  a 
good  deal  more  emphasis.  They  yelled  and  rattled 


210  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

after  me,  and  one  of  the  gendarmes  —  or,  more 
likely,  it  was  Czibulka  —  discharged  a  shot  that 
whistled  unpleasantly  close  to  my  head.  Through 
the  midnight  streets  I  ran  on  and  on  —  unstopped 
by  the  gay  pleasure-lovers  still  enjoying  them 
selves  at  the  cafes  —  now  with  the  shouts  growing 
fainter,  now  with  the  pursuit  waxing  stronger  as 
other  night-prowling  keepers  of  the  peace  took 
up  the  chase  and  swelled  the  army  of  my  enemies. 
I  rounded  corner  after  corner,  doubling,  advancing, 
falling  over  curb-stones  and  dashing  into  alleys, 
but  always,  in  a  general  way,  working  toward  the 
heart  of  the  city  with  some  idea  of  mingling  at 
last  in  the  great  crowds  of  the  boulevards  and 
gaining,  perhaps,  my  own  hotel.  It  was  the 
blindest  and  maddest  chase  of  all  my  checkered 
career,  but  it  was  a  winning  one,  and,  when  I 
finally  saw  the  rear  of  the  Madeleine  down  the 
empty  street  before  me,  the  ultimate  echoes  of 
pursuit  had  died  away,  and  I  was  once  more 
free. 

Somehow  I  had  preserved  my  hat  —  perhaps 
through  the  subconscious  memory  of  how  the  loss 
of  Czibulka's  had  injured  his  appearance  and 
lessened  the  force  of  his  claims  to  respectability. 
I  was  panting  hard,  of  course,  and  dripping  with 
sweat,  but  my  light  over-coat  served  to  conceal 
the  lamentable  condition  of  my  broad  shirt  front, 


The  Voice  of  the  Prince  211 

and  I  was  concluding  that  I  was  at  least  in  form 
to  enter  by  the  bar-door  to  the  Chatham  when  I 
reflected  that  the  Baron  knew  my  stopping  place 
and  that,  if  Czibulka  had  been  able  by  this  time 
to  get  into  communication  with  him,  he  would 
most  likely  have  sent  the  agents  de  ville  ahead  of 
me  there. 

Nor,  indeed,  had  I  any  mind  to  rest.  Somewhere 
in  this  mad  French  city,  Stephanie  was  in  danger 
and  despair,  and  somewhere  I  must  find  her. 

My  only  clew  lay  in  the  corner  where  I  had  left 
her  the  night  before:  the  junction  of  the  Rue 
Vivienne  and  the  Rue  du  4  Septembre.  Thither, 
after  some  blunders  and  much  questioning  of  the 
people  on  the  boulevards,  I  made  my  way,  and 
there,  on  arriving,  I  found,  what  I  had  not  noticed 
in  the  turmoil  of  my  previous  visit,  but  what 
complicated  not  a  little  my  already  almost 
hopelessly  complicated  quest:  the  corner  was  the 
meeting  of  not  only  two,  but  three  streets:  the 
Rues  du  4  Septembre  and  Vivienne  and  the  Rue 
St.  Augustin. 

Desperately  I  looked  this  way  and  that,  but 
there  was  not  a  token  to  help  me  in  my  search. 
Even  at  so  short  a  distance  from  the  boulevards, 
there  rested  upon  the  streets  about  me  the  utter 
silence  and  the  emptiness  of  an  ancient  church 
yard.  On  either  hand  rose  only  tall,  blank  walls 


212  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

or  the  heavy  iron  blinds  of  closed  shops,  and,  as  I 
began  to  wander  aimlessly  by  corner  after  corner, 
turning  hither  and  yon  without  purpose  or  plan, 
there  was  no  company  for  my  hesitant  advances 
save  the  sound  of  my  own  steps  on  the  clanging 
stone. 

And  then,  suddenly,  the  silence  was  hideously 
broken. 

I  had  passed  a  dim  street-lamp  and  had  seen, 
by  a  blue  and  white  sign,  that  I  was  invading  the 
Rue  Colbert.  All  about  me  were  still  the  blank 
walls  or  shuttered  houses  and  just  before  me  rose 
Number  8,  a  blind-faced  duplicate  of  its  dozen 
neighbours.  But  high  above,  from  that  very 
house  —  rang  out  and  boomed  forth  and  cried  and 
blasphemously  echoed  and  re-echoed  a  single 
high,  discordant,  uncanny  voice  —  the  ghost  of  a 
voice  —  singing  wildly  and  breaking  woefully  on 
the  high  notes: 

"  Ma  jolie  Dirce  Choux-Choux, 

Elle  fail  —  " 

It  was  the  voice  I  had  heard  the  night  before 
in  L'Abbaye :  the  voice  of  the  Mad  Prince  singing 
the  mattchiche  out  of  tune  from  that  high-barred 
window  in  the  Rue  Colbert. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

EXIT   THE    COLONEL 
"  They  all  lie  in  wait  for  blood." 

THE  voice  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun 
and  left  me  standing  there  in  the  ghostly  street, 
struck  cold  with  a  horror  and  yet  wonder.  For 
quite  a  minute  I  must  have  waited,  gaping  up  at 
that  distant  barred  window,  like  a  statue  of 
amazement,  and  then  the  next  thing  of  which  I 
was  perfectly  conscious  was  a  hot  rush  of  mad, 
unreasoning  activity:  I  was  pounding  upon  the 
oaken  front  door  of  Number  8  with  both  my  bare 
fists,  and  kicking  wildly  at  its  base  with  the 
stubbed  toes  of  my  light  patent-leather  boots. 

Of  course,  I  got  no  answer  to  my  efforts,  and, 
as  my  strength  thus  fatuously  expended  itself,  I 
realized  the  reason.  —  Whatever  else  of  the  un 
expected  my  wild  experiences  of  the  past  two  days 
and  nights  might  lead  me  now  to  look  for,  I 
surely  could  scarcely  suppose  that  a  house  await 
ing  an  attack  would  open  to  a  violent  hammering 
at  its  closed  portal. 

And  yet  I  must  enter.    It  was  relatively  certain 

213 


214  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

that  my  cross-eyed  friend  Revicta,  who  had  twisted 
himself  into  a  worm  and  ridden  behind  our  cab 
on  the  night  before,  would  see  to  it  that  the 
neighbourhood  whither  he  had  tracked  us  should 
be  more  or  less  continuously  watched.  It  was 
even  more  certain  that,  if  such  a  state  of  espionage 
existed,  I  had  been  observed  and  followed  from 
the  moment  I  had  reached  this  locality.  And  it 
would  have  been  betting  on  a  certainty  to  wager 
that,  had  the  Prince's  voice  and  my  rappings  been 
noted  by  any  spy,  Stephanie  and  her  little  garrison 
would  soon  need  all  the  assistance  that  I  could 
give  them. 

In  the  last  forty-eight  hours  I  had  completely 
forgotten  how  to  haggle  over  niceties.  Without 
further  hesitation,  I  now  produced  my  knife  and 
quietly  but  systematically  set  about  picking  the 
lock  of  that  door. 

To  my  amazement,  this  was  far  more  speedily 
effective  than  all  my  pounding  had  been.  I  was 
bending  over,  trying  to  see  the  lock,  and  inserting, 
for  only  the  second  time,  the  stoutest  blade  of  my 
pocket-knife,  when,  apparently  at  some  slight 
sound  that  had  betrayed  my  purpose,  a  bolt  was 
shot  back  and  the  door  was  flung  open  with  such 
abruptness  that  I  almost  pitched  headlong  into 
the  arms  of  the  giant  that  was  responsible  for 
this  unconventional  welcome. 


Exit  the  Colonel  215 

There  was  a  low  light  in  that  vestibule  and  by 
it,  as  I  staggered  forward,  I  caught  the  gleam  of 
a  blade  in  the  big  man's  heavy  fist  —  caught  it 
just  in  time  to  catch,  also,  the  big  man  himself 
in  the  pit  of  the  stomach  with  my  flying  hand,  to 
shove  him  spluttering  and  gasping  against  the 
grim  wall  and,  thereby,  to  save  my  own  life. 

The  man  was  Colonel  Lichtenstein. 

I  must  have  given  him  a  harder  dig  than  I  had 
at  the  moment  of  action  supposed,  since,  for  quite 
an  appreciable  instant,  he  leaned  there,  unable  to 
move,  the  shooting-jacket,  which  he  wore,  tossing 
over  his  great  chest  and,  back  of  the  jungle  of 
his  fierce  moustaches,  his  angry  eyes  gone  filmy  and 
his  rugged,  weather-beaten  face  turned  to  a  nasty 
white.  For  my  own  part,  I,  too,  was  sufficiently 
winded  not  to  court  immediate  continuation  of 
hostilities  and  entirely  at  sea  as  to  how  I  should 
deal  with  a  man  that  might  insist  upon  fighting 
with  me  when  I,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  had  come 
there  to  enlist  in  his  cause. 

"  Well,"  I  smiled  a  little  feebly,  "  I  can't  call 
this  greeting  of  yours  a  particularly  cordial  one, 
Colonel  Lichtenstein." 

His  answer  was  a  thundering  roar  of  rage  and  a 
bound  forward  with  upraised  knife. 

Then,  certainly,  he  would  have  had  me:  I  had 
drawn  no  weapon,  believing  that  my  motive  of 


216  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

friendship  was  guard  enough  against  attack,  and 
was  altogether  taken  by  surprise.  But,  just  as 
he  was  in  the  act  of  coming  down  on  me  with  his 
pointed  steel,  I  heard  the  scream  of  a  woman  and, 
from  the  inner  hall,  Stephanie  dashed  between  us 
so  quickly  as  almost  to  receive  in  her  own  heart 
the  Austrian's  descending  blade. 

"  Stop!"  she  cried  in  a  tone  that  demanded 
instant  obedience.  "  Stop!  "  -  And,  pushing  the 
Colonel  back  into  his  corner,  she  turned  upon  him, 
drawn  up  to  her  full  height,  her  scarlet  mouth 
curled  in  scorn.  "  Is  this  the  way  that  you  are 
accustomed  to  receive  friends?  "  she  demanded 
haughtily. 

Lichtenstein  snarled  impotently. 

"  A  friend?  —  You  say,  a  friend?  "  he  sneered. 

But  she  disregarded  the  imputation. 

"  And  is  this  the  way  that  you  protect  our  cause, 
Colonel  Lichtenstein?  "  she  continued. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  replied  the  Austrian,  getting  a 
better  hold  upon  both  his  emotions  and  his  French, 
"  when  a  stranger  to  me  has  forced  his  way  into 
this  house,  what,  I  pray  you,  would  you  have  me 
to  do?" 

"  I  should  not  have  you  neglect  the  door,  at 
any  rate,  Colonel,"  she  replied. 

She  nodded  toward  it,  and,  taking  her  meaning, 
I  stepped  forward  and  shot  into  its  socket  the 


Exit  the  Colonel 217 

forgotten  bolt.  But  my  very  quickness  in  read 
ing  her  wishes  seemed  only  to  shake  what  little 
reserve  Colonel  Lichtenstein  had  been  able  to 
muster. 

"  You  tell  me,  mademoiselle,"  he  cried  in  a 
voice  of  disbelief,  "  that  this  man,  whom  I  have 
never  seen  before,  is  a  friend  to  our  cause?  " 

"  I  tell  you  that  he  is  a  young  American,  whom 
I  met  when  I  was  in  Philadelphia  and  who,  as  I 
said  when  I  returned  here  this  evening,  warned 
me  of  Czibulka's  treachery  and  saved  me,  at  the 
risk  of  his  own  life,  from  my  pursuers." 

"  But  you  may  remember  that  you  added, 
mademoiselle,  that  this  young  American  was 
unaware  of  your  address." 

Stephanie  flushed. 

"  Nor  did  I  give  it  to  him,"  she  declared. 

"  Then  how-     '  began  the  Colonel. 

But  I  now  saw  that  it  was  time  for  me  to  take 
a  hand  in  the  game  of  words. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  I,  "if  you  have  any  more 
insults  to  offer,  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  address 
them  not  to  a  woman,  but  to  me." 

He  turned  quickly,  still  with  his  ugly  answer. 

"  With  all  my  heart,  monsieur,"  he  answered. 
"  Perhaps,  then,  you  will  be  able  to  tell  me  how 
it  was  that,  if  the  story  mademoiselle  told  me 
earlier  this  evening  is  the  truth  —  ' 


218  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

"  Confine  yourself  to  me,  Colonel.  The  story 
is  the  truth." 

"  How  then,  monsieur,  I  say,  did  you  find  this 
house?  " 

I  knew  at  once  that  the  facts  would  be  about 
the  most  hurtful  things  I  could  lay  before  him, 
and  yet  my  brain  refused,  for  once,  to  invent  the 
more  convincing  lie.  All  I  could  do  was  to  say 
to  him : 

"  I  remembered  where  I  had  left  mademoiselle 
last  night.  I  went  there.  I  scoured  the  nearby 
streets.  I  chanced  on  the  Rue  Colbert  and  heard, 
from  a  window  in  this  house,  the  voice  that  I  had 
heard  at  L'Abbaye  last  evening,  singing  the 
mattchiche." 

Under  his  great  moustaches  the  giant's  sneer 
broadened  slowly  into  a  grin  of  incredulity.  He 
took  one  step  toward  me  and  raised  again  his 
knife,  ready  to  pass  it  through  my  body  at  any 
second. 

"  And,  monsieur,  you  really  expect  me  to 
believe  a  story  as  absurd  as  that?  "  he  demanded. 

Stephanie  laid  a  restraining  hand  upon  his 
arm. 

"  I  expect  you  to  believe  it,  Colonel  Lichten- 
stein,"  she  calmly  admonished  him. 

He  looked  at  her  hard  and  almost  fiercely,  it 
seemed  in  the  shadows  of  the  vestibule,  but  her 


Exit  the  Colonel  219 

large  black  eyes  returned  his  gaze  without  the 
slightest  tremor. 

There  was  a  moment  of  absolute  silence  as  they 
stood  thus,  and  then  I  saw,  with  relief,  his  arm 
gently  slipping  to  his  side  when,  from  somewhere 
out  in  that  darkened  street  there  came  —  low 
enough,  no  doubt,  but  to  our  strained  ears  distinct 
and  piercing  —  the  sound  of  a  calling  whistle. 

It  was  a  full  moment  more  that  we  stood  thus, 
looking  at  one  another,  wide-eyed,  but  then  the 
Colonel  broke  the  spell  with  a  loud  oath. 

"  So!  "  he  cried,  turning  first  to  the  Countess 
and  then  to  me.  "  A  friend  is  he?  —  A  friend  are 
you  ?  —  That  sounds  like  it,  does  it  not,  mademoi 
selle? —  By  God,  you've  trapped  us,  have  you? 
You've—" 

But  just  at  that  time  he  could  get  no  further, 
for  now,  again  from  outside,  came  another  sound 
that  drove  the  blood  from  our  faces  and  stilled  our 
hearts  abruptly  —  the  sound  of  many  light  foot 
falls,  of  men  running,  with  an  effort  at  quiet, 
down  the  paved  street. 

Nearer  and  yet  nearer  they  came,  we  three 
waiting  like  figures  in  a  tableau.  They  reached 
the  house.  They  reached  the  door.  They  stopped 
short  before  it. 

And  then  came  a  gentle,  but  rapid  and  im 
perative,  tapping  on  that  great  oaken  barrier. 


220  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

Two  thoughts  alone  possessed  my  mind :  first, 
that  I  was  certain  to  die  at  the  hands  of  either 
the  Colonel  or  his  enemies,  and,  second,  that  I 
deserved  no  better  portion.  My  folly  had  brought 
this  thing  to  pass.  In  my  last  desperation  to  find 
Stephanie,  I  had  thrown  caution  to  the  four 
winds  of  Heaven  and  had  been  followed  to  this 
house  by  some  spy  —  just  as  I  had  anticipated 
too  late  while  I  was  pounding  for  entrance  — 
left  to  guard  the  street  corner  at  which  Schram 
Revicta  had  seen  the  Countess  and  myself  the 
night  before. 

The  Colonel  made  another  move  forward. 
'  Why  have  you  not  answered  me?  "  he  bel 
lowed,   his  eyes  red  with  flame,  his  face  thrust 
close  to  mine.     "  Are  you  a  coward  as  well  as  a 
spy?  " 

I  straightened  myself. 

"Sir  —  "  I  began. 

But  a  second  knocking,  louder  and  more  im 
perative  than  the  first,  drowned  my  coming  words 
and  choked  my  voice  to  silence. 

"  Yes,"  the  Colonel  roared  on,  "a  spy  and  a 
coward!  A  dirty  spy  in  the  pay  of  de  Hetzen- 
dorf;  and  a  spy  must  die  the  death  of  a 
spy!" 

Stephanie  caught  his  wrist. 

"  You  shall  not  speak  so!  "  she  cried,  her  eyes 


Exit  the  Colonel  221 

flashing,  her  face  aglow  and  her  whole  body  so 
athrill  with  anger  that  even  then  I  knew  I  should 
bear  the  picture  to  my  grave.  "  I  tell  you  that  he 
is  my  friend,  who  fails  to  defend  himself  only 
because  he  would  not  harm  another  friend  of 
mine!  " 

"Oh,  no!  "  laughed  the  Colonel  at  the  height 
of  passion.  "Oh,  no,  mademoiselle!"  —  He 
tried  to  twist  his  hand  free  from  her  grip,  and  I 
watched  steadily  for  a  wavering  of  his  glance  from 
me  so  that  I  might  run  in  upon  him.  "  No  longer 
am  /  a  friend  of  yours !  I  see  it  all  now !  I  know 
now  where  this  American  got  his  information 
and  how  and  why  he  got  it.  You  have  sold  us  to 
him  and  to  his  master:  you  love  this  boy!  " 

That  last  phrase  tore  away  any  lingering  shred 
of  my  discretion.  I  could  not  draw  a  weapon 
before  he  would  have  stabbed  me.  But  my  fists 
clenched  instinctively  and  I  drew  back  to 
strike. 

Just  as  the  knocking  broke  out  once  more  and 
began  to  rain  madly  and  openly  upon  the  door,  it 
was  Stephanie  who  again  interposed.  I  could  see 
that  it  was  costing  her  pride  no  little  price,  but 
she  bit  her  lip  and,  standing  bravely  between, 
made  her  final  plea. 

"  Messieurs,"  she  whispered,  her  cheeks  turned 
pale  again,  "desist  —  at  least  postpone  this 


222  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

quarrel!  Consider  our  desperate  straits!  Re 
member  the  crisis!  Listen,  oh,  listen  to  that 
knocking !  We  must  act  —  at  once  —  together ! 
The  life  of  the  Prince  and  the  freedom  of  Hungary 
are  in  our  hands!  " 

She  gave  me  one  look  —  and  I  drew  and  handed 
her  my  revolver. 

Then  she  turned  to  Lichtenstein. 

"  And  you,"  she  pleaded,  her  other  hand  ex 
tended —  "you,  Colonel  —  for  the  Prince  and 
Hungary?  " 

But  the  Colonel  was  past  all  power  of  persuasion. 
His  rage  seemed  to  swell  hotter  at  the  sight  of  my 
obedience. 

"  Not  I!  "  he  shouted.  "  My  Prince  and  your 
country  may  rot  for  all  of  me !  I  ask  you,  made 
moiselle,  for  the  last  time,  do  you  love  this 
boy?  " 

Then  I  should  have  made  for  him,  but  Stephanie 
waved  me  back.  She  looked  the  Colonel  full  in 
the  face ;  her  lip  trembled,  but  her  eyes  were  bright 
and  her  voice  firm  as  she  gave  her  answer. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  proudly,  "  I  love  him." 

Before  anyone  could  utter  another  word,  the 
whole  thing  was  over.  With  one  sweep  of  his  long, 
left  arm,  Lichtenstein  tossed  her  against  the 
farther  wall  and  charged  upon  me,  the  keen  knife 
uplifted.  As,  unarmed,  I  ducked  to  tackle  him, 


Exit  the  Colonel  223 

I  saw  Stephanie  raise  my  revolver.  There  was  a 
flash  and  a  roar,  and,  through  the  strangling  smoke 
that  filled  the  vestibule,  I  saw  the  Colonel  lying 
at  my  feet. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    FIGHT    ON    THE    STAIRS 

"  And  he  smelleth  the  battle  afar  off,  the  thunder  of 
the  captains,  and  the  shouting." 

STEPHANIE  did  not  faint.  Instead,  she  only 
came  over  to  the  body,  stooped,  examined  it,  and, 
to  my  wide,  inquiring  eyes,  nodded  her  answer: 

'Yes,"  she  said,  "he  is  quite  dead"  -and 
handing  me  my  smoking  revolver,  proceeded  to 
disarm  the  still  form  before  her.  "  One  less  to 
fight  for  us,"  she  added,  —  "  and  it  must  be  a 
fight  now." 

It  must  indeed,  I  reflected.  The  sound  of  that 
shot  had  stilled  momentarily  the  knocking",  and 
the  spies  —  themselves  anxious  to  avoid  the  police 
-  had  apparently  withdrawn  for  a  council  of 
war.  But  I  knew  that  flight  was  impossible  and 
that,  with  the  powerful  influences  at  their  com 
mand,  our  enemies  would  not  long  hesitate  before 
their  final  attack.  There  was  a  telephone  in  the 
hallway  and,  as  my  eye  caught  it,  I  ran  that  way. 

"  What  now?  "  asked  Stephanie. 

224 


The  Fight  on  the  Stairs  225 

"  My  friend  the  detective,"  I  made  answer  over 
my  shoulder.  "  She  is  at  the  Chatham." 

And  I  took  the  receiver  from  its  hook. 

But  my  voice  and  my  French  gave  way  so 
completely  that,  had  Stephanie  not  helped  me  out, 
I  should  never  have  given  that  number.  At  last, 
however,  I  did  get  the  hotel  and,  after  what 
seemed  an  interminable  wait,  heard  Frances's 
glad  "  Hello!" 

"This  is  Burton!"  I  called. 

'  Yes  —  yes,"  she  answered. 

"I  am  at  No.  8,  Rue  Colbert.  There  is  a 
fight  due  at  any  minute  now." 

"  There  is?  "  came  the  exulting  response.  "  At 
Number  8,  Rue  Colbert.  Very  well,  I  shall  —  " 

And  that  ended  it.  There  was  a  little  snapping 
sound,  followed  by  complete  silence.  I  jolted 
the  hook;  I  yelled  into  the  transmitter;  I  swore 
roundly  at  the  unresponsive  exchange,  and  then, 
at  last,  the  truth  came  to  me :  the  wire  had  been 
cut. 

Stephanie  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"It  is  all  on  the  knees  of  the  gods,"  she  said 
quietly.  "  Attend  here  a  moment  while  I  go  to 
arm  the  Prince.  It  is  necessary  that  he  should  not 
risk  his  life  by  appearing  until  we  shall  have 
reached  the  last  ditch." 

She  ran  speedily  up  the  stairs,  but  soon  returned 


226  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

to  the  first  landing  where,  dragging  a  table  and  a 
sofa  from  the  nearest  room,  we  made  a  rough 
barricade  that  commanded  the  first  flight.  Above 
us  the  steps  coiled  steeply,  a  wide  well  between 
them  reaching  from  the  first  floor  to  the  roof. 
As  we  paused  in  our  labours,  I  looked  first  from 
the  right  side  of  our  crazy  breastwork  and  then 
turned  to  Stephanie. 

'  There  are  but  three  of  us?  "  I  asked. 

"  But  two  —  until  the  Prince's  room  is 
reached." 

'  Then  our  only  chance  is  to  clean  them  up 
entirely  and  make  away  before  the  gendarmes 
arrive." 

She  looked  at  me  quizzically. 

"You  think  that  chance  a  small  one?"  she 
inquired. 

"  I  don't  quite  see  how  they  dare  to  force  it  on 
us." 

"  Ah,  my  friend,  you  do  not  realize  the  powers 
behind  them.  They  would  prefer  not  to  shoot, 
but  if  they  must  shoot  and  bring  upon  themselves 
the  gendarmes,  then  not  a  paper  in  Paris  will 
dare  to  print  a  word  of  this,  and  they  will  be 
under  arrest  no  longer  than  it  takes  their  am 
bassador  to  call  upon  the  Minister  of  Foreign 
Affairs." 

I  thought  things  over. 


The  Fight  on  the  Stairs  227 

"  Look  here,"  I  lied  presently,  "  this  is  a 
strategic  position:  one  man  can  easily  hold  it 
alone  until  the  police  arrive.  There  is  no  reason 
in  the  world  why  you  — 

But  she  put  both  her  little  hands  upon  my 

p 

shoulders. 

"  No,  no!  "  she  cried.  "It  is  the  other  way, 
my  friend  —  the  other  way !  This  is  no  cause  of 
yours.  You  have  risked  enough  already.  Already 
you  have  served  me  so  much  better  than  I  de 
serve  !  Leave  me  now !  You  have  seen  that  I  can 
shoot—" 

"  What?  "  I  laughed.  "  My  dear  mademoiselle, 
I  could  not  go  if  I  wished  to,  and  if  I  could  at  this 
moment  walk  out  of  this  house  unharmed,  do 
you  think  so  ill  of  me  as  to  suppose  that  I  should 
be  willing  to  do  it?  " 

Her  hold  slipped  down  my  arms  until  our 
hands  met.  The  only  light  was  in  the  hall  below, 
but  out  of  the  semi-darkness  I  saw  her  great 
eyes  shining  like  the  stars. 

"  It  means  death,"  she  said  simply. 

"  With  you,"  I  whispered. 

And  then  I  felt  her  arms  about  my  neck,  her 
breast  to  mine,  and  all  the  glory  of  her  scarlet 
mouth  responding  to  my  kiss. 

Almost  roughly  I  tore  myself  away. 

"Go,  now!"  I  commanded.     "You  must  go 


228  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

up  the  stairs.  They  may  be  here  at  any  moment 
and  you  must  not  stay!  " 

Her  only  answer  was  a  peal  of  laughter  —  the 
assured  laughter  of  a  woman  that  has  found  that 
of  which  death  cannot  rob  her  —  and,  just  as 
I  began  again  my  protests,  with  one  loud  crash 
the  door  was  burst  open  and  five  men  dashed 
into  the  vestibule  and  through  that  to  the 
hall. 

It  had  passed  all  discussion  now:  the  red 
instant  had  arrived. 

The  attackers  stumbled  over  Lichtenstein's 
dead  body  and,  before  they  had  recovered  them 
selves,  we  two,  from  the  darkness,  fired  upon 
them  in  the  light.  One  man  pitched  headlong 
and  lay  still:  my  aim  had  been  faulty,  but 
Stephanie's  had  not  missed. 

Then  came  the  whirlwind.  Through  the  smoke 
I  saw  the  flash  of  their  replying  fire:  I  saw  the 
remaining  four,  Bolfras  at  their  head  and  Revicta 
close  behind,  charge  the  stairs  toward  us;  I  saw 
my  second  shot  tumble  Schram  backward  down 
a  half-dozen  steps,  but  I  also  felt  a  sharp  stab 
in  my  left  shoulder  and  knew  that  Czibulka's 
first  bullet  had  found  a  lodging-place. 

Stephanie  caught  my  hand  and,  kicking  the 
table  down  upon  the  enemy,  I  followed  her  to  the 
next  landing,  letting  them  have  a  few  ineffective 


The  Fight  on  the  Stairs  229 

shots  en  route.  There  we  made  another  stand, 
but  a  brief  one,  and  so,  at  last,  with  Stephanie's 
revolver  empty  and  but  one  shot  left  in  mine,  we 
came  to  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

It  was  a  small  space,  scarce  six  feet  square,  the 
wall  on  one  hand,  the  door  to  the  Prince's  room 
on  the  other,  and  the  front  divided  between  the 
opening  to  the  steep  stairs  and  a  frail  railing 
that  gave  upon  the  broad,  deep  well,  a  drop  of 
three  stories  to  the  ground  floor.  Leaning  down, 
I  fired  at  the  trio  pounding  upward,  knocked  over 
one  of  them  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  a 
second  turn  and  run. 

Leaping  upward  through  the  suffocating  smoke, 
Bolfras  Czibulka,  in  the  almost  complete  darkness, 
snapped  his  revolver  in  my  face,  and,  when  its 
only  response  was  the  click  of  the  hammer  on  an 
empty  shell,  tossed  it  across  the  railing,  so  that  I 
heard  it  crash  far  down  below,  and  then,  the  last 
remaining  member  of  the  attacking  party,  sprang 
on  to  meet  me,  an  unarmed  man  against  a  man 
unarmed. 

It  was  a  death  grapple,  and  we  both  knew  it. 
I  felt  his  hot  breath  beating  against  my  face,  his 
iron-sinewed  legs  twisted  about  my  own,  and, 
while  one  corded  hand  gripped  bitterly  my 
wounded  shoulder,  the  other  sought  my  gasping 
throat  to  strangle  me.  I  did  my  best.  I  got  a 


230  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

good  wrestling  hold,  and  tried  to  down  him, 
but  his  strength  was  greater  than  my  skill.  Fro 
and  to,  and  back  and  forth  we  swayed  and 
struggled,  in  a  horrid  straining  silence,  now  totter 
ing  over  the  stairs,  and  again  tossing  into  a  corner, 
where,  helpless  in  the  darkness  to  aid  me,  Ste 
phanie  was  cowering.  Fro  and  to  and  back  and 
forth  —  and  then  we  crashed  against  the  frail 
railing,  which  alone  stood  between  us  and  that 
awful  descent. 

The  light  woodwork  creaked,  and  spoke  a  word 
that,  all  at  once,  I  understood. 

Holding  the  man  there,  I  threw  back  my  head 
and  let  his  fingers  at  my  throat. 

The  ruse  worked.  Both  his  hands  flew  to  grasp 
my  neck ;  to  my  sweating  neck ;  in  the  joy  of  ap 
parent  victory  his  legs  untwisted  from  my  own  — 
and  I  was  free  to  put  forth  all  my  strength,  to 
smash  him  through  that  railing,  and  to  pitch 
him  headlong  down  the  well. 

Stephanie's  arms  closed  about  me;  her  lips 
sought  mine,  and  so  we  stood  as,  up  the  stairs, 
bounded  Frances  Baird,  a  lantern  in  her  hand 
and,  just  behind  her,  the  Baron  de  Hetzen- 
dorf. 

"  Are  you  all  right?  "  she  cried.    "  Are  you  —  " 

Her  violent  query  died  unfinished. 

The  interruption  came  from  behind  the  door 


The  Fight  on  the  Stairs  231 

to  the  Prince's  room.  It  was  a  single,  high,  dis 
cordant  voice  —  the  ghost  of  a  voice,  singing 
wildly,  breaking  woefully  on  the  high  notes,  and 
echoing  and  blasphemously  re-echoing  through 
that  dreadful  house  of  carnage : 

"  Ma  jolie  Dirct  Choux-Choux, 
Ellefait—'' 

And  then  a  single  pistol  shot  —  and  silence. 

We  forced  the  door  and  found  him  —  the  man 
that  I  had  known  as  Wilhelm  Jaeger  —  lying 
before  it,  a  warm  revolver  in  his  clenched  hand 
and  a  bullet  through  his  head. 

Stephanie  knelt  beside  the  hunched  body,  over 
which  Frances's  lantern  cast  a  steady,  pallid  glow. 

She  spoke  quietly. 

'  The  Prince  is  dead,"  she  whispered. 

'  The  Prince? "  repeated  the  ambassador. 
'  That  is  no  more  the  Prince  than  I  am.  This 
is  a  crack-brained  fellow  named  Keller,  who  used 
to  be  in  our  secret  service.  Why,  it's  the  man  that, 
I  have  just  learned,  our  embassy  sent  out  from 
Washington  to  look  after  the  Prince!  If  that  is 
the  man  you  have  been  harbouring  as  the  Prince, 
then  —  " 

It  was  Frances  who  finished  his  sentence. 

'  Then,"  said  she,  "  the  Prince  Imperial  lies 
buried  in  the  potter's  field  at  Mountville." 


232  My  Heart  and  Stephanie 

And  that,  I  suppose,  is  the  explanation.  After 
the  ambassador  had  pulled  all  sorts  of  hidden 
wires,  and,  by  the  aid  and  assistance  of  his 
whole  empire,  quieted  the  general  slaughter  of 
that  last  evening,  we  had  time  fully  to  confirm 
what  he  said.  Keller,  as  Wilhelm  Jaeger,  had 
gone  clean  mad  after  he  had  seen  the  Prince 
killed  and,  mistaken  by  Czibulka  for  Rudolf,  so 
thoroughly  believed  himself  to  have  assumed 
the  identity  of  the  victim  —  whom  he  did, 
indeed,  in  some  degree  resemble  —  that  he 
easily  convinced  the  two  other  conspirators 
who,  like  Bolfras,  had  never  seen  the  Prince  at 
home. 

But,  for  my  part,  it  all  seems  to  matter  very 
little.  The  world  has  gone  its  way  unguessing; 
the  ready  ear  of  gossip  has  caught  no  echo  of 
our  sword-play;  the  map  of  Europe  is  unchanged, 
and  I,  looking  out  from  my  study-window  upon 
the  silent  April  night  in  this  quiet  Philadelphia 
suburb,  read  and  re-read  the  cable-message  that 
tells  me  that  Stephanie  is  coming  by  the  next 
boat,  dream  of  how  she  first  kissed  me  upon  the 
darkened  stairway  of  the  Rat  Mort,  and  wonder 
vainly  whether  indeed  I  ever  saw  the  great  jewel, 
gleaming  in  the  death-house  at  Mountville; 
whether  I  was  ever  an  accessory-after-the-fact  to 
Frances  Baird  robbing  the  ambassador's  safe  in 


The  Fight  on  the  Stairs  233 

Paris,  and  whether  I  ever  heard  the  voice  of  the 
"  Mad  Prince "  singing  the  mattchiche  out  of 
tune  behind  that  high-barred  window  in  the  Rue 
Colbert. 


THE    END. 


From 

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DAVID  BRAN 

By   MORLEY    ROBERTS,    author   of   "  Rachel   Marr,"    "  The 

Idlers,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,   with    frontispiece   in   color  by  Frank  T. 

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In  "  David  Bran  "  Mr.  Roberts  presents  in  a  new  light  the  old 
story  of  a  man  and  two  women.  Characterized  as  this  book 
is  by  the  skilful  achievement  which  distinguished  "  Rachel 
Marr,"  its  interest  is  strengthened  by  a  remarkable  defence  of 
heterodox  doctrines  and  the  surprising  and  courageous  conclusion 
to  which  the  author  draws  his  novel. 

"  Among  living  novelists  Morley  Roberts  holds  a  high  place; 
but '  David  Bran  '  will  enormously  strengthen  his  reputation." — 
Rochester  Post-Express. 

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Lou  Trevarris,  Kate  Poldrew  and  even  David  Bran,  the  name  of 
his  writer's  gift  is  Wonderful."  —  N.  Y.  World. 

THE  QUEST  FOR  THE  ROSE  OF  SHARON 

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Illustrated,  cloth  decorative $1.25 

This  tale  of  mystery  and  its  solution  contains  all  the  elements 
which  go  to  make  a  fascinating  story,  in  which  one's  sympathies 
are  awakened  over  the  impending  misfortunes  of  the  little  heroine 
and  her  family,  and  one's  curiosity  is  excited  to  the  utmost  by 
the  methods  employed  to  bring  to  a  successful  termination  a 
quest  which  is  not  accomplished  until  the  very  last  chapter  is 
reached. 

The  author's  style  is  quaint  and  charming  and  the  characters 
all  flesh  and  blood. 


L.  C.  PAGE  <5r>  COMPANY'S 


ANNE  OF  AVONLEA 

By  L.  M.  MONTGOMERY,  author  of  "  Anne  of  Green  Gables." 

Illustrated,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

Anne  Shirley  (Anne  of  Green  Gables)  is  beyond  question  the 
most  popular  girl  heroine  in  recent  fiction,  and  the  reading  public 
will  be  glad  to  hear  more  of  her.  In  the  present  volume  Anne  is 
as  fascinating  as  ever,  and  the  author  has  introduced  several  new 
characters,  including  the  highly  imaginative  and  charming  little 
boy,  Paul  Irving,  whose  quaint  sayings  will  recall  to  the  reader 
the  delightful  Anne  on  her  first  appearance  at  Green  Gables. 
Some  opinions  regarding  Anne  of  Green  Gables: 
"  In  '  Anne  of  Green  Gables  '  you  will  find  the  dearest  and 
most  moving  and  delightful  child  since  the  immortal  Alice."  — 
Mark  Twain  in  a  letter  to  Francis  Wilson. 

"  I  see  that  she  has  become  one  of  the  popular  young  ladies  of 
the  season,  but  I  can  assure  you  that  if  she  had  no  one  else  to 
love  her,  I  should  still  be  her  most  devoted  admirer.  .  .  .  And 
I  take  it  as  a  great  test  of  the  worth  of  the  book  that  while  the 
young  people  are  rummaging  all  over  the  house  looking  for  Anne, 
the  head  of  the  family  has  carried  her  off  to  read  on  his  way  to 
town."  —  Bliss  Carman. 
An  English  opinion: 

"  At  long  intervals  there  is  sent  across  the  Atlantic  a  book 
which  lives  in  the  public  memory  for  years.  Such  were  '  Helen's 
Babies '  and  '  Little  Lord  Fauntleroy,'  and  '  Anne  of  Green 
Gables  '  deserves  to  make  an  equal  sensation."  —  The  Notting 
ham  (England)  Guardian. 


A  GENTLEMAN  OF  QUALITY 

By  FREDERIC  VAN  RENSSELAER  DEY,  author  of  "  The  Magic 

Story." 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  Frank  P.  Fairbanks.      Cloth 

decorative $1.50 

A  thrilling  tale  of  mistaken  identity,  the  scene  of  which 
is  laid  for  the  most  part  in  England  of  the  present  day.  It  is 
a  graphic  story  of  human,  forceful  life;  of  despair  crowding  a 
man  even  while  a  woman's  love  seeks  to  surround  him;  of 
trickery  and  guilelessness;  of  vengeance  robbed;  of  the  unwilling 
masquerader  who  unknowingly  follows  the  lead  of  justice  away 
from  the  bitter  of  crime  and  the  sweet  of  love,  on  to  a  new 
shore  and  through  the  mazes  of  English  aristocratic  life,  till  he 
rests  at  last  where  no  man  can  foresee  who  has  not  been  with 
Love  a  Pioneer. 


LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MISS  MOTTE 

By  CAROLINE  ATWATER  MASON,  author  of  "  The  Binding  of 

the  Strong,"  "  A  Lily  of  France,"  etc. 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  Albert  R.  Thayer. 

Cloth  decorative         .  $1.25 

Mrs.  Mason's  story  is  a  delightful  combination  of  mystery  and 
romance.  The  heroine,  a  young  woman  of  remarkable  per 
sonality  and  charm,  is  persuaded,  on  account  of  disclosures  made 
by  her  mother,  into  a  promise  never  to  marry,  and  hence  holds 
herself  aloof,  which  but  adds  zest  to  the  pursuit  of  her  several 
admirers.  The  unravelling  of  the  truth  concerning  her  birth,  and 
its  effect  on  the  mother,  solves  the  mystery  to  the  reader  and 
brings  the  romance  to  a  happy  termination  in  a  dramatic  climax. 

The  other  characters  in  the  book,  the  worldly  clergyman;  his 
assistant,  a  young  man  of  his  ideals;  the  society  woman  of 
wealth  and  her  invalid  husband  with  scientific  proclivities,  as 
well  as  the  morbid  mother,  are  all  splendidly  drawn. 

THE  FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  QUINCY  ADAMS 
SAWYER  AND  MASON  CORNER  FOLKS 

By  CHARLES  FELTON  PIDGIN,   author  of    "  Quincy  Adams 
Sawyer,"  "  Blennerhassett,"  "  Stephen  Holton,"  etc. 
With  six  full-page  illustrations  by  Henry  Roth. 
Cloth  decorative        .  •       S1-50 

Some  eight  years  ago,  "  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer  and  Mason 
Corner  Folks  "  was  published,  being  heralded,  truthfully,  as  the 
work  of  an  "  unknown  author."  The  book  met  with  instant 
recognition  by  the  critics  and  public,  and  proved  one  of  the 
"  best  sellers  "  in  recent  years.  Hundreds  of  letters  have  come 
to  the  author  from  unknown  correspondents  all  over  the  country 
askin"-  if  they  are  not  going  to  hear  more  about  "  Quincy  and 
the  other  characters  in  the  book.  The  present  story  has  all  the 
popular  appeal  of  the  earlier  book  and  should  repeat  its  success. 

MASTERS  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

By  THEODORE  ROBERTS,  author  of  "  Hemming,  the  Adven 
turer,"  "  Captain  Love,"  etc. 

Illustrated,  cloth  decorative  .  .  ;..',.'  ,  '  n  j ,  •, 
The  scene  of  Mr.  Roberts'  new  story  is  laid  in  early  Colonial 
times  in  Virginia,  although  part  of  the  action  takes  place  upon 
the  high  seas.  The  story  is  easily  the  best  that  Mr  Roberts 
has  yet  done,  and  his  descriptions  of  the  ample  hospitality  of 
early  days  in  Virginia,  the  chivalry  of  its  men  and  the  beauty 
of  its  women,  have  never  been  surpassed. 


L.  C.  PAGE  &°  COMPANY 


TAG:    YOU'RE  IT;    OR  THE  CHIEN  BOULE  DOG 

By  VALANCE  J.  PATRIARCHE. 

Illustrated.     Cloth  decorative $1.00 

An  amusing  story  of  a  newly  married  couple,  whose  honey 
moon  is  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  a  lost  child,  and  a  dog, 
decidedly  a  dog.  The  young  wife,  whose  kindly  interest  in  the 
forlorn  little  fellow  traveller,  "  Bateese  "  and  his  "  Chien  Boule 
Dog,"  results  in  all  sorts  of  complications,  the  young  husband, 
and  last,  though  not  least,  the  boy,  "  Bateese,"  who  is  sublimely 
unconscious  of  being  the  central  figure  in  what  proves  almost  a 
tragedy  (at  least  from  the  point  of  view  of  a  man  cheated  out  of 
his  honeymoon)  are  all  drawn  with  a  fine  humor. 

The  story  is  an  exquisite  bit  of  humor  which  will  be  read  again 
and  again. 


Selections  from 
L.  C.  Page  and  Company's 
List  of  Fiction 


WORKS  OF 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS 

Each  one  vol.,  library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative          .         .       $1.50 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  GEORGIANA 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  YOUNG  PRETENDER.  Illus 
trated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

"  A  love-story  in  the  highest  degree,  a  dashing  story,  and  a  re 
markably  well  finished  piece  of  work."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

THE  BRIGHT  FACE  OF  DANGER 

Being  an  account  of  some  adventures  of  Henri  de  Launay,  son 
of  the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire.  Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
"  Mr.  Stephens  has  fairly  outdone  himself.  We  thank  him 

heartily.    The  story  is  nothing  if  not  spirited  and  entertaining, 

rational  and  convincing."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

(40th  thousand.) 

"  This  is  easily  the  best  thing  that  Mr.  Stephens  has  yet  done. 
Those  familiar  with  his  other  novels  can  best  judge  the  measure 
of  this  praise,  which  is  generous."  —  Buffalo  News. 

CAPTAIN  RAVENSHAW 

OR,  THE  MAID  OF  CHEAPSIDE.  (52d  thousand.)  A  romance 
of  Elizabethan  London.  Illustrations  by  Howard  Pyle  and 
other  artists. 

Not  since  the  absorbing  adventures  of  D'Artagnan  have  we  had 
anything  so  good  in  the  blended  vein  of  romance  and  comedy. 

THE  CONTINENTAL  DRAGOON 

A   ROMANCE   OF   PHILIPSE   MANOR   HOUSE   IN   1778.     (53d 
thousand.)     Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
A  stirring  romance  of  the  Revolution,  with  its  scenes  laid  on 
neutral  territory. 


L.   C.  PAGE  &•»  COMPANY'S 


PHILIP  WINWOOD 

(70th  thousand.)  A  Sketch  of  the  Domestic  History  of  an 
American  Captain  in  the  War  of  Independence,  embracing 
events  that  occurred  between  and  during  the  years  1763  and 
1785  in  New  York  and  London.  Illustrated  by  E.  W.  D. 
Hamilton. 

AN  ENEMY  TO  THE  KING 

(70th  thousand.)  From  the  "  Recently  Discovered  Memoirs 
of  the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire."  Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 
An  historical  romance  of  the  sixteenth  century,  describing  the 

adventures  of  a  young  French  nobleman  at  the  court  of  Henry 

III.,  and  on  the  field  with  Henry  IV. 

THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 

A  STORY  OF  ADVENTURE.     (35th  thousand.)     Illustrated  by 

H.  C.  Edwards. 

An  historical  romance  of  the  eighteenth  century,  being  an 
account  of  the  life  of  an  American  gentleman  adventurer  of 
Jacobite  ancestry. 

A  GENTLEMAN  PLAYER 

His  ADVENTURES  ON  A  SECRET  MISSION  FOR  QUEEN  ELIZA 
BETH.     (48th  thousand.)     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
The  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who  joins  Shakespeare's  com 
pany  of  players,  and  becomes  a  friend  and  prote'ge'  of  the  great 
poet. 

CLEMENTINA'S  HIGHWAYMAN 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated $1.50 

Mr.  Stephens  has  put  into  his  new  book,  "  Clementina's  High 
wayman,"  the  finest  qualities  of  plot,  construction,  and  literary 
finish. 

The  story  is  laid  in  the  mid-Georgian  period.  It  is  a  dashing, 
sparkling,  vivacious  comedy,  with  a  heroine  as  lovely  and 
changeable  as  an  April  day,  and  a  hero  all  ardor  and  daring. 

TALES  FROM  BOHEMIA 

Illustrated  by  Wallace  Goldsmith. 

Cloth,  decorative  cover $1.50 

These  bright  and  clever  tales  deal  with  people  of  the  theatre 
and  odd  characters  in  other  walks  of  life  which  fringe  on  Bohemia. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

CHARLES  G.  U  ROBERTS 

HAUNTERS  OF  THE  SILENCES 

Cloth,  one  volume,  with  many  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull,  four  of  which  are  in  full  color         ....      $2.00 
The  stories  in  Mr.  Roberts's  new  collection  are  the  strongest  and 
best  he  has  ever  written. 

He  has  largely  taken  for  his  subjects  those  animals  rarely  met 
with  in  books,  whose  lives  are  spent "  In  the  Silences,"  where  they 
are  the  supreme  rulers.  Mr.  Roberts  has  written  of  them  sympa 
thetically,  as  always,  but  with  fine  regard  for  the  scientific  truth. 
"  As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  enviable 
place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imaginative 
and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

RED  FOX 

THE  STORY  OF  His  ADVENTUROUS  CAREER  IN  THE  RINGWAAK 
WILDS,  AND  OF  His  FINAL  TRIUMPH  OVER  THE  ENEMIES  OF 
His  KIND.     With  fifty  illustrations,  including  frontispiece  in 
color  and  cover  design  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative       .  .        .  $2.00 

"  True  in  substance  but  fascinating  as  fiction.  It  will  interest 
old  and  young,  city-bound  and  free-footed,  those  who  know  ani 
mals  and  those  who  do  not."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  A  brilliant  chapter  in  natural  history."  —  Philadelphia  North 
American. 

THE  KINDRED  OF  THE  WILD 

A  BOOK  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE.  With  fifty-one  full-page  plates  and 
many  decorations  from  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Square  quarto,  decorative  cover  ...  .  $2.00 

"  Is  in  many  ways  the  most  brilliant  collection  of  animal  stories 
that  has  appeared;  well  named  and  well  done."  —  John  Bur 
roughs. 

THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  TRAILS 

A  companion  volume  to  "  The  Kindred  of  the  Wild."    With 
forty-eight  full-page  plates  and  many  decorations  from  draw 
ings  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Square  quarto,  decorative  cover $2.00 


L.  C.  PAGE  <&-   COMPANY'S 


"  These  stories  are  exquisite  in  their  refinement,  and  yet  robust 
in  their  appreciation  of  some  of  the  rougher  phases  of  woodcraft. 
Among  the  many  writers  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an 
enviable  place."  -—  The  Outlook. 

"  This  is  a  book  full  of  delight.  An  additional  charm  lies  in  Mr. 
Bull's  faithful  and  graphic  illustrations,  which  in  fashion  all  their 
own  tell  the  story  of  the  wild  life,  illuminating  and  supplementing 
the  pen  pictures  of  the  author."  —  Literary  Digest. 

THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WATER 

With  thirty  full-page  illustrations  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull 
and  Frank  Vining  Smith.  Cover  design  and  decorations  by 
Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  Every  paragraph  is  a  splendid  picture,  suggesting  in  a  few 

words  the  appeal  of  the  vast,   illimitable  wilderness."  —  The 

Chicago  Tribune. 

THE  HEART  THAT  KNOWS 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    ....      $1.50 

"  A  novel  of  singularly  effective  strength,  luminous  in  literary 

color,  rich  in  its  passionate,  yet  tender  drama." — New  York  Globe. 

EARTH'S  ENIGMAS 

A  new  edition  of  Mr.  Roberta's  first  volume  of  fiction,  pub 
lished  in  1892,  and  out  of  print  for  several  years,  with  the  addi 
tion  of  three  new  stories,  and  ten  illustrations  by  Charles 
Livingston  Bull. 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    .        .        .        .      $1.50 
"  It  will  rank  high  among  collections  of  short  stories.     In 
'  Earth's  Enigmas  '  is  a  wider  range  of  subject  than  in  the  '  Kin 
dred  of  the  Wild.'  "  —  Review  from  advance  sheets  of  the  illustrated 
edition  by  Tiffany  Blake  in  the  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

BARBARA  LADD 

With  four  illustrations  by  Frank  Verbeck. 
Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover   .        .  .      $1.50 

"  From  the  opening  chapter  to  the  final  page  Mr.  Roberts  lures 
us  on  by  his  rapt  devotion  to  the  changing  aspects  of  Nature  and 
by  his  keen  and  sympathetic  analysis  of  human  character."  — 
Boston  Transcript. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


CAMERON  OF  LOCHIEL 

Translated  from  the  French  of  Philippe  Aubert  de  Gasp^,  with 

frontispiece  in  color  by  PI.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  Professor  Roberts  deserves  the  thanks  of  his  reader  for  giving 
a  wider  audience  an  opportunity  to  enjoy  this  striking  bit  of 
French  Canadian  literature."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  It  is  not  often  in  these  days  of  sensational  and  philosophical 
novels  that  one  picks  up  a  book  that  so  touches  the  heart."  — 
Boston  Transcript. 

THE  PRISONER  OF  MADEMOISELLE 

With  frontispiece  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top        .        .        .      $1.50 

A  tale  of  Acadia,  —  a  land  which  is  the  author's  heart's  delight, 
—  of  a  valiant  young  lieutenant  and  a  winsome  maiden,  who  first 
captures  and  then  captivates. 

"  This  is  the  kind  of  a  story  that  makes  one  grow  younger,  more 
innocent,  more  light-hearted.  Its*literary  quality  is  impeccable. 
It  is  not  every  day  that  such  a  heroine  blossoms  into  even  tempo 
rary  existence,  and  the  very  name  of  the  story  bears  a  breath  of 
charm."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  ANCIENT  WOOD 

With  six  illustrations  by  James  L.  Weston. 

Library  12mo,  decorative  cover $1.50 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  novels  of  recent  days."  —  Boston 
Journal. 

"  A  classic  twentieth-century  romance."  —  New  York  Commer 
cial  Advertiser. 

THE  FORGE  IN  THE  FOREST 

Being  the  Narrative  of  the  Acadian  Ranger,  Jean  de  Mer, 
Seigneur  de  Briart,  and  how  he  crossed  the  Black  Abbe\  and 
of  his  adventures  in  a  strange  fellowship.  Illustrated  by  Henry 
Sandham,  R.  C.  A. 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top $1.50 

A  story  of  pure  love  and  heroic  adventure. 

BY  THE  MARSHES  OF  MINAS 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated  .  .  .  $1.50 
Most  of  these  romances  are  in  the  author's  lighter  and  more 

playful  vein;   each  is  a  unit  of  absorbing  interest  and  exquisite 

workmanship. 


L.  C.  PAGE  <&•  COMPANY'S 


A  SISTER   TO   EVANGELINE 

Being  the  Story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went  into 
exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pre\ 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated        .        .        .      $1.50 
Swift  action,  fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  pas 
sion,  and  searching  analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 


WORKS  OF 

LILIAN  BELL 

CAROLINA  LEE 

With  a  frontispiece  in  color  from  an  oil  painting  by  Dora 
Wheeler  Keith.  Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover.  $1.50 
"  A  Christian  Science  novel,  full  of  action,  alive  with  incident 

and  brisk  with  pithy  dialogue  and  humor."  —  Boston  Transcript. 
"  A  charming  portrayal  of  the  attractive  life  of  the  South, 

refreshing  as  a  breeze  that  blows  through  a  pine  forest."  — 

Albany  Times-Union. 

HOPE  LORING 

Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  ....  $1.50 
"  Tall,  slender,  and  athletic,  fragile-looking,  yet  with  nerves 
and  sinews  of  steel  under  the  velvet  flesh,  frank  as  a  boy  and 
tender  and  beautiful  as  a  woman,  free  and  independent,  yet  not 
bold  —  such  is  '  Hope  Loring,'  by  long  odds  the  subtlest  study 
that  has  yet  been  made  of  the  American  girl."  —  Dorothy  Dix, 
in  the  New  York  American. 

ABROAD  WITH  THE  JIMMIES 

With  a  portrait,  in  duogravure,  of  the  author. 
Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    ....      $1.50 
"  Full  of  ozone,  of  snap,  of  ginger,  of  swing  and  momentum."  — 
Chicago  Evening  Post. 

AT  HOME  WITH  THE  JARDINES 

A  companion  volume  to  "  Abroad  with  the  Jimmies." 
Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    ....      $1.50 
"  Bits  of  gay  humor,  sunny,  whimsical  philosophy,  and  keen 
indubitable  insight  into  the  less  evident  aspects  and  workings 
of  pure  human  nature,   with  a  slender  thread  of  a  cleverly 
extraneous  love  story,  keep  the  interest  of  the  reader  fresh."  - 
Chicago  Record-Herald. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


THE  INTERFERENCE  OF  PATRICIA 

With  a  frontispiece  from  drawing  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Small  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover        .        .        .  $1.25 

"  There  is  life  and  action  and  brilliancy  and  dash  and  clever 
ness  and  a  keen  appreciation  of  business  ways  in  this  story."  — 
Grand  Rapids  Herald. 

"  A  story  full  of  keen  and  flashing  satire."  —  Chicago  Record- 
Herald  . 

A  BOOK  OF  GIRLS 

With  a  frontispiece. 

Small  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover       .        .        .        .      $1.25 

"  The ''stories  are  all  eventful  and  have  effective  humor."  - 
New  York  Sun. 

"  Lilian  Bell  surely  understands  girls,  for  she  depicts  all  the 
variations  of  girl  nature  so  charmingly."  —  Chicago  Journal. 

The  above  two  volumes  boxed  in  special  holiday  dress,  per  set, 
$2.50.  

WORKS  OF 

NATHAN  GALLIZIER 

THE  SORCERESS  OF  ROME 

With  four  drawings  in  color  by  "  The  Kinneys." 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated $1.50 

The  love-story  of  Otto  III.,  the  boy  emperor,  and  Stephania, 
wife  of  the  Senator  Crescentius  of  Rome,  has  already  been  made 
the  basis  of  various  German  poems  and  plays. 

Mr.  Gallizier  has  used  it  for  the  main  theme  of  "  The  Sorceress 
of  Rome,"  the  second  book  of  his  trilogy  of  romances  on  the 
medieval  life  of  Italy.  In  detail  and  finish  the  book  is  a  brilliant 
piece  of  work,  describing  clearly  an  exciting  and  strenuous 
period. 

CASTEL  DEL  MONTE 

With  six  illustrations  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

A  powerful  romance  of  the  fall  of  the  Hohenstaufen  dynasty  in 
Italy  and  the  overthrow  of  Manfred  by  Charles  of  Anjou,  the 
champion  of  Pope  Clement  IV. 

"There  is  color;  there  is  sumptuous  word  painting  in  these 
pages;  the  action  is  terrific  at  times;  vividness  and  life  are  in 
every  part;  and  brilliant  descriptions  entertain  the  reader  and 
give  a  singular  fascination  to  the  tale."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 


L.  C.  PAGE  &>  COMPANY'S 


WORKS  OF 

MORLEY  ROBERTS 

RACHEL  MARR 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  A  novel  of  tremendous  force,  with  a  style  that  is  sure, 
luxuriant,  compelling,  full  of  color  and  vital  force."  —  Elia  W. 
Peattie,  in  Chicago  Tribune. 

"  In  atmosphere,  if  nothing  else,  the  story  is  absolutely  per 
fect."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

LADY  PENELOPE 

With  nine  illustrations  by  Arthur  W.  Brown. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  A  fresh  and  original  bit  of  comedy  as  amusing  as  it  is  auda 
cious."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

THE  IDLERS 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  John  C.  Frohn. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  It  is  as  absorbing  as  the  devil.  Mr.  Roberts  gives  us  the 
antithesis  of  '  Rachel  Marr  '  in  an  equally  masterful  and  convin 
cing  work."  —  The  New  York  Sun. 

THE  PROMOTION  OF  THE  ADMIRAL 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated    .        .        .      $1.50 

"  If  any  one  writes  better  sea  stories  than  Mr.  Roberts,  we 

don't  know  who  it  is;  and  if  there  is  a  better  sea  story  of  its  kind 

than  this  it  would  be  a  joy  to  have  the  pleasure  of  reading  it."  — 

New  York  Sun. 

THE  FLYING  CLOUD 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  .  .  $1.50 
When  "  The  Flying  Cloud  "  was  published,  the  New  York 
Times  Saturday  Review  said:  "  It  is  the  drama  of  the  sea:  human 
nature  stripped  naked  by  salt  water  alchemy  and  painted  as 
only  the  author  or  Joseph  Conrad  could  paint  it.  ...  A  corking 
story,  a  ripping  good  story!  " 

THE  BLUE  PETER 

With  frontispiece  by  Henry  Roth. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

Again  Morley  Roberts  has  hoisted  The  Blue  Peter,  and  sailing 
orders  aboard,  has  started  on  a  prosperous  voyage  to  the  scenes 
of  his  earliest  popularity. 

"  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  of  Morley  Roberts  that  he  is  one  of 
the  very  few  writers  of  to-day  who  live  up  to  the  best  traditions 
of  the  sea  story."  —  The  Bookman. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

ALICE  MacGOWAN  AND  GRACE   Mac- 
GOWAN  COOKE 

RETURN 

A  STORY  OF  THE  SEA  ISLANDS  IN  1739.    With  six  illustrations 

by  C.  D.  Williams. 

Library  12mo,  cloth $1.50 

"  So  rich  in  color  is  this  story,  so  crowded  with  figures,  it  seems 
like  a  bit  of  old  Italian  wall  painting,  a  piece  of  modern  tapestry, 
rather  than  a  modern  fabric  woven  deftly  from  the  threads  of  fact 
and  fancy  gathered  up  in  this  new  and  essentially  practical 
country,  and  therein  lies  its  distinctive  value  and  excellence."  — 
N.  Y.  Sun. 

THE  GRAPPLE 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  Arthur  W.  Brown. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  The  movement  of  the  tale  is  swift  and  dramatic.  The  story  is 
so  original,  so  strong,  and  so  finely  told  that  it  deserves  a  large 
and  thoughtful  public.  It  is  a  book  to  read  with  both  enjoyment 
and  enlightenment."  —  N.  Y.  Times  Saturday  Review  of  Books. 

THE  LAST  WORD 

Illustrated  with  seven  portraits  of  the  heroine. 
Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    ....      $1.50 
"  When  one  receives  full  measure  to  overflowing  of  delight  in  a 
tender,  charming,  and  wholly  fascinating  new  piece  of  fiction,  the 
enthusiasm  is  apt  to  come  uppermost."  —  Louisville  Post. 

HULDAH 

With  illustrations  by  Fanny  Y.  Cory. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative       ....  $1.50 

Here  we  have  the  great-hearted,  capable  woman  of  the  Texas 
plains  dispensing  food  and  genial  philosophy  to  rough-and-ready 
cowboys.  Her  sympathy  takes  the  form  of  happy  laughter,  and 
her  delightfully  funny  phrases  amuse  the  fancy  and  stick  in  one's 
memory. 

WORKS  OF  OTHER  AUTHORS 

RICHARD  ELLIOTT,  FINANCIER 

By  GEORGE  CARLING. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated    .        .        .      $1.50 

"  Clever  in  plot  and  effective  in  style.    The  author  has  seized 

on  some  of  the  most  sensational  features  of  modern  finance  and 

uses  them  pretty  much  as  Alexandre  Dumas  did."  —  N.  Y.  Post. 


io  L.  C.  PAGE  &>  COMPANY'S 

ANNE  OF  GREEN  GABLES 

By  L.  M.  MONTGOMERY.     Illustrated  by  M.  A.  and  W.  A. 

J.  Claus.     12mo          ...  ....      $1.50 

"  Anne  of  Green  Gables  "  is  beyond  question  the  most  popular 
girl  heroine  in  recent  years.  Poets,  statesmen,  humorists,  critics, 
and  the  great  public  have  lost  their  hearts  to  the  charming  Anne. 
"  Anne  of  Green  Gables  "  is  not  a  book  of  a  season,  to  attain  a 
wide  popularity  for  a  brief  space  and  sink  into  oblivion  with  many 
another  "  best  seller,"  but  its  literary  merit  is  such  that  it  is 
bound  to  have  a  permanent  place  in  literature  and  continue  to 
increase  in  popularity  with  each  succeeding  season. 

"  In  '  Anne  of  Green  Gables  '  you  will  find  the  dearest  and  most 
moving  and  delightful  child  since  the  immortal  Alice."  —  Mark 
Twain  in  a  letter  to  Francis  Wilson. 

"  I  can  hardly  tell  you  how  much  I  enjoyed  the  book,  and  I  can 
heartily  recommend  it  to  my  friends  who  are  not  ashamed  when 
from  time  to  time  they  find  the  eyes  suffuse  and  the  page  grow 
blurred  at  the  pathos  of  the  story."  —  Sir  Louis  H.  Davies  of  the 
Supreme  Court  of  Canada. 

"  I  take  it  as  a  great  test  of  the  worth  of  the  book  that  while  the 
young  people  are  rummaging  all  over  the  house  looking  for  Anne, 
the  head  of  the  family  has  carried  her  off  to  read  on  his  way  to 
town."  —  Bliss  Carman. 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  SOUTH 

By  ROBERT  LEE  DURHAM. 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  Henry  Roth         .        .      $1.50 

An  absorbing  and  intensely  realistic  story  dealing  with  the  race 
problem  in  this  country. 

"  '  A  terrific  story  but  a  true  one  '  —  this  is  what  the  thinking 
world  is  saying  concerning  '  The  Call  of  the  South.'  "  —  The 
Baltimore  Sun. 

"  The  force  of  the  book  is  tremendous.  In  dramatic  power  it 
equals  Tolstoi's  '  Resurrection.'  "  —  Rev.  Martin  D.  Hardin, 
Pastor  Third  Presbyterian  Church,  Chicago. 

"  The  speech  of  Rutledge  before  the  Senate  is  splendid.  By 
itself  it  is  one  of  the  best  arguments  against  social  equality  that 
has  ever  been  printed.  If  not  already  done,  it  should  be  printed 
in  a  pamphlet  by  itself  and  given  world-wide  distribution."  — 
The  Louisville  Courier- Journal. 

"  '  The  Call  of  the  South  '  is  a  great  book.  In  it  Mr.  Durham 
holds  the  mirror  of  future  possible  events  up  to  us  in  a  fascinating, 
dramatic  form.  The  plot  of  the  story  would  alone  be  sufficient 
to  insure  its  success."  —  Birmingham  Age-Herald. 


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